


Perpetual Rainbow Rings

by SheerSaxifrage



Series: Delayed Fates [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/F, F/M, No Deeprealms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheerSaxifrage/pseuds/SheerSaxifrage
Summary: So long as she had Lady Selkie at the center of her life, Asugi at its peripherals, and the hells beneath her feet, the encroaching darkness would have to wait.
(In which Rhajat gradually loses her eyesight, over eight years.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a part of a larger (quasi) AU which intends to explore what the Fates universe would be like if a) Garon were never possessed, b) Hoshido wasn't the utopia it is in canon, and c) the Hoshidan elite were not magically immune to the influence of Anankos.
> 
> So there are no deeprealms. There is no war. However, tensions between Nohr and Hoshido remain painfully high, and war is still an ever-present possibility. 
> 
> _This_ story isn't about this larger conflict--but these rules are instrumental to the background of the story.
> 
> That's all for now; on to the story :)

  
**I**  
_age 8_  


She remembered Saizo before the infamous attack on Igasato, when he still had one working eye. The other had been ruined by a shirukin to the face, and she remembered how he always kept it closed, hidden behind what Rhajat considered to be a clean, neat scar. To her it completed his look, bringing ruggedness to an otherwise pretty face and further distinguishing him from his twin brother. (In other words, she thought it was 'cool'.)

What blinded him in his other eye was anything but. In the same blast that killed her 'aunt' Orochi, he was left with a horrific burn that covered more than half his face. His only working eye was seared to the cornea, it's accompanying lid burned away completely. That stony dead eye remained open for the world to see, surrounded by marred skin. His left ear was completely deformed, curled in on itself like freshly cooked shrimp. Rhajat once—only once—saw him take off his mask, and she saw how his lips had also been burnt, the upper left corner so badly damaged that it shrank upwards, leaving perpetually bared teeth. She could hardly stand to look at him, but she supposed this was the only blessing in his blindness: he wouldn't know either way.

Saizo had always been prickly and unapproachable, but the event that left his wife dead and himself plunged into a world of darkness changed him. His peers felt the brunt of it in a sharper way than she ever would—King Ryoma had no use for a blind retainer, her mother seemed unable to reach him, her irritable father could no longer stand to be in the same room as him. But Rhajat was a child, and so she saw the change in him in no clearer manner than in the way he treated his son.

He would one day rename himself Asugi, but at that time he was still Saizo the Sixth. He was more like his mother than anyone else—teasing, aloof, but skilled. But in line with the tradition of their clan, he was expected to carry on the legacy of his forefathers. And because Saizo could no longer train him to the fullest extent, Rhajat saw her mother, Kagero, step in to help the nephew of her heart.

The pair traveled to their Wind Tribe home every day—sometimes, they would even stay overnight. Rhajat would spend her days indoors with her father, Hayato, and he would train her in various forms of divination. They always sat by the window overlooking her mother's training area, the one her father had built when they married so that she could have a space to call her own. It was from there that she saw it all, the training that took place under a sun encased in rainbow rings: every accomplishment, every failure, every insult, every berating.

"Do you really think you'll ever be able to carry on our family name making idiotic mistakes like that?" her 'uncle' might sneer. Or maybe, "You're a disgrace—an embarrassment to our ancestors! Why the gods would curse me with such a weak, useless son is beyond my comprehension."

Rhajat would see how tense Hayato would become at Saizo's verbal abuse. He would grab the ends of the table they were working on, his eyes closed as he murmured incantations under his breath: praying to calm himself, to give the boy strength, for Saizo to be struck down by a bolt of lightning. "I don't know what your mother ever saw in that man," he confided in his daughter one day, knowing that at her age she had no way of knowing what he meant. Hayato—who _hated_ Saizo, both for who he'd always been and for what he'd allowed himself to become—would keep the window open for as long as he could, but would close it whenever Saizo's abusive scolding's turned into full-blown rants. He'd pause at the window once he was done, his face contorted in disgust, as if trying to rid the house of a bad smell.

The breaking point came one day after Saizo the Sixth made a particularly stupid mistake—which prompted a particularly cruel response from his father. "Were you able to predict that screw-up? _Did you have a dream about it?"_ he taunted. "Your so-called 'talent' is utterly useless. Was it able to protect your mother? Your grandmother? Our decimated village?! You won't be able to do anything relying on that _garbage!"_

Rhajat snapped her head towards the window, and in front of her, Hayato became very still. The boy had as much promise in divination as he did ninjitsu, because of his prophetic dreams. His talent had been proven to everyone, including his father. Orochi was known to gush over her son's rare ability, and did everything she could to help him further it while she was still alive. That Saizo would insult his son's gift was, in effect, an insult to his wife's memory. Even at her young age, Rhajat knew that was low.

Outside, Saizo took a blind step forward. Even in his misdirection, he was menacing. Rhajat felt that he wanted to strike his son, who stood frozen in place beside Kagero, his head bowed so deeply that his chin touched his chest. (His left cheek was a clouded purple, the eye just above it swelled pink.) Her mother regarded Saizo with hard eyes. "That was unnecessary. What do you hope to accomplish by spitting on everything Orochi stood for?"

Her voice was level, but Rhajat could hear the seething anger behind her words. Orochi was her best friend; Saizo the Sixth was the only thing she left behind in the world, as much her legacy as anyone else's. But that was not all.

"And to insult my husband's profession, in my very presence. It seems you've lost respect for me as well."

Saizo did not respond to this. (What could he say?) After a few moments of stilted silence, the boy broke the tension by offering to redo his drills. "Very well. And this time, no foolishness," was his father's only response.

That night, after Saizo and his son left to begin their hazardous journey back to the remnants of their village, Rhajat saw her parents get into an argument.

"That arrogant, pigheaded _dastard!_ Coming to my village, my house, and insulting what I do for a living! And where our daughter could hear him! Who the hell does he think he is?!"

Rhajat slid down onto the floor, not daring to peek out past the doorway where her parents might catch a glimpse of her. She wasn't afraid of them in the slightest; rather, she didn't want her presence to stop their fighting. She wanted to hear this. She wanted to wallow in her distaste of the man her mother was so foolishly helping, her uncle who wasn't really her uncle.

"If Rhajat's innocence is your concern, then perhaps tomorrow you could train her elsewhere in the house."

"Tomorrow?" Hayato whispered incredulously, his voice faint from the shock. "To _morrow?!_ I don't ever want to see that son of a wretch again! He should consider himself banned from Wind Tribe grounds!"

"You do not have the authority to do that," Kagero flatly reminded him, to Rhajat's annoyance. Of course Grandfather Fuga was the tribe's ultimate authority, but Hayato was, in effect, his son—adopted or not, that had to count for something. "Besides," her mother continued, "if he is banned from here, who will train his child?"

"That isn't our problem, Kagero! I know how you felt about Orochi, but if she were truly that good of a friend, she wouldn't want you to be around Saizo. Not the way he is now."

Rhajat heard her mother shift around—crossing her arms, or perhaps her legs. Anything to show indifference to her husband's argument. "He's not much different now than he was before."

"No, he's gotten worse. He used to at least show _gratitude_ to the people who helped him. Now he's like a feral animal—biting the hand that feeds him!"

"Oh please, husband. Do you not have a single sympathetic bone in your body? You know he's going through a… difficult time right now." This excuse sounded weak, even to Rhajat's naïve ears.

"Again, not our problem. Do you think our daughter can concentrate on her studies with that man spewing his venom right outside her window?" Hayato paused, and Rhajat wondered what he could be doing. Pinching the bridge of his nose? Rubbing his temples? Fighting with his wife always seemed to leave him more annoyed than anything else. "Honestly, does he hate his son? The way he talks to that boy… most people wouldn't address their dogs in such a manner."

"He feels guilty, Hayato. Useless. His life has no value anymore, and he doesn't want his son to suffer the same fate." Kagero paused; when Hayato offered no response, she continued. "Saizo has failed twice—once in avenging his father, and again in preventing Orochi's death. He lost one eye to each event. He cannot serve King Ryoma anymore. The only thing he has left is this boy, and he does not want to fail a third time. So he pushes. Besides," and here, Rhajat knew, she would appeal to her father's heart, "if you truly care for the boy, you'll want to keep him close. Do you think Saizo's treatment of him will improve if we stop them from coming back here? Or will it become worse?"

Hayato huffed. "I see your pity for this man knows no bounds." He paused, and Rhajat heard the slight, subtle thud of him leaning up against the wall that separated them. "Sorry, that came out more tartly than I intended. Look… I suppose they can continue to come here, on the condition that he curtails his verbal abuse. It spoils the peaceful aura of our home, and distracts Rhajat from her studies. I mean, really," and she heard the smile come back to his voice, "today we were studying a hex that can turn someone's hair into snakes, and Rhajat completely ignored it. Snakes, Kagero! That's the sort of thing our daughter loves! Please, if not for anyone else, do it for her."

Kagero laughed lightly. "Of course, husband. Anything for Rhajat."

And she did talk to him—time and time again, to no permanent avail. Saizo would take her admonishments and stop for a time, but before long his pent up guilt and his rage would rise to the surface, finding a target in his son. Hayato and Kagero would continue to have variations of the same argument, again and again and _again_ until Rhajat's ears felt ready to bleed.

She came away from this with the impression that blindness was a curse of the worst sort. It robbed a person of their value, causing deep-seated anger that would burst forward, drenching the afflicted in wickedness so putrid that even those who actively sought out such things would be put off by it. Just as the beauty of black magic could only be appreciated alongside the existence of white magic, so did she feel about the world her uncle was trapped in. To be plunged into that flat, unending darkness had to be nothing short of a living hell.

But because nothing can change when no one changes, Rhajat would spend her evenings much the same as she always did: with her father by that window, idly listening to Saizo's ranting, her eyes fixated on the various candles her father would use to light their home.

Such lovely rainbow halos they had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship Hayato/Kagero not so much because I'm diehard for the ship itself, but because I _love_ the idea of Kagero being Rhajat's mother. Hopefully this chapter will convey why that is.

  
**II**   
_age 9_   


When she wasn't training either herself or Saizo the Sixth, Kagero spent her time indoors—incense lit and paintbrush in hand. Rhajat would watch her for hours behind the door frame, peaking out just enough to see without being seen.

She'd study her mother's peculiar technique, warped under the brutality of her own ninja training. As a girl her fingers had been broken in a number of ways, as though her masters sought to break the hands of an artist to mold them into the hands of a murderer. From that anguish came a style so dark that merely looking at her work could cause her father to burst into tears. _Disturbing,_ he'd call them, voice choked and wobbling. _A glimpse into the hells._ Her mother never apologized, but she also never hung her finished works anywhere in their home. She kept some of them in a closed-off room no bigger than a closet; the others she burnt en masse, stacking them high and setting them ablaze in her training area. She'd stare up at the burning tower with soulless eyes, while her daughter watched from afar in muted horror.

(Kagero knew where Rhajat was at all times, and if she really wanted to hide any of this, she could have. She wanted her to look. She knew her daughter would someday realize that the path of a diviner wasn't so different from that of a ninja, and she wanted to teach these lessons early on).

No matter her father or anyone else's criticisms, Rhajat knew in the pit of her soul that her mother was a wonderful artist. Her work was haunting. Bleak. _Gorgeous._ Rhajat wanted to take a step into her paintings and live in the world her father called hell. She wanted to ask him, _how could it be hell if mother made it with her own hands? Do you not love her enough to see how beautiful her mind is?_ She vowed to admire her mother's work with twice the intensity, in compensation for where her father's love fell short.

There came one evening where Hayato wrapped her lessons up early to go on an excursion with Chief Fuga and some other tribal elders. He would be gone for the rest of the bright night, and though all three of them were invited he would be going alone. Kagero wanted to work off the stress caused by a particularly brutal day of training Saizo the Sixth; and if Kagero was staying home then Rhajat saw no reason to venture out.

Once he was gone, Kagero went and set up everything to paint. Rhajat decided to let her mother settle into a false sense of security before she went over to watch her. She passed the window of her study room, her eyes catching once more on the spatter of blood decorating the walls of their home, adjacent to the training area. She shuddered to think of where it came from, and thanked her rainbow rings that she did not have to be a ninja.

She wondered if Kagero would incorporate the day's events into her work at some point. She knew her mother often drew inspiration from life experience, contorting scenes from her own life to properly convey her feelings. Would she do it with this, or would she stay away, regarding those specks of blood as stories only Saizo the Sixth could tell?

It was in the midst of this that the backs of her eyes began to hum. It was a peculiar feeling, tinged with just enough pain to slowly settle into the rest of her head. Annoyed, she applied pressure to her eyes with the balls of her hands, hoping that the cold emanating from her extremities would sooth the burning.

"Rhajat?"

She lowered her hands and turned to greet her mother, who stood leaned up against the doorway with her arms crossed. "Yes, mother?"

"What are you doing here? Aren't you going to watch me work?" There was no teasing in her voice, no hint of amusement, just a simple question based in fact. (Another lesson to be taught: a ninja _always_ knows). Rhajat didn't know what to say to this—she had been so carful, so sure her mother never noticed. Kagero crossed the length of the room, stopping once she got to the window. "My, you really _can_ see everything from here," she murmured, a tinge of regret marring her usually impassive voice.

Rhajat inclined her head, still too embarrassed to look at her mother dead-on. "It's fine. You do what you have to."

"Quite the mature response," she hummed, not breaking her gaze. "But…" she paused to find the right words. She cleared her throat before continuing. "I do hope you know I take no pleasure in what I do."

"I know." _It's uncle who likes it,_ she thought to herself (but knew better than to actually say). She pressed her fingers to her eyes instead, distracting herself with the explosion of colors dancing before her muted vision.

"It is simply the way of the ninja, to be broken and remade. Saizo sees a lot of fault in his son—and in some ways, I agree. He's proven himself to be exceptionally difficult to mold." She closed her eyes. "What's frustrating is that he has a great deal of potential. I believe he could be the greatest their line offers yet, if only…"

Rhajat wondered why her mother was telling her all this, speaking to her the way she would Hayato—but she thought it the perfect opportunity to voice why she thought Saizo the Sixth was the way he was. "Could it be he's still sad over Aunt Orochi?"

Kagero sighed heavily. "That's a big part of it, but you must realize what living through the attack must have done to him." She crossed her arms, her eyes wide and unblinking. She seemed to be talking mostly to herself. "Did you know that Saizo was the only adult male to survive the invasion? That the boy lives only because Orochi threw him down a well for his own protection? The Ice Tribe went in and slaughtered nearly everyone, save for the feeble and the elderly." Kagero's shoulders tensed, her face a portrait of dark shadows and bitter resentment. "But it was not as an act of mercy. It was to send the message that they'd crippled one of Hoshido's most formidable ninja clans. And now… a ten-year-old boy has been tasked with its revival. No wonder he resists."

It fascinated Rhajat to hear her mother speak this way, to confirm that horrible things happened not just in her imagination, but in the real world as well. "That sounds like one of your paintings," she sighed in wonder.

"Does it?" She turned to Rhajat, who kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hair forming a curtain around her face. "Are you alright?"

"I am. The candles are hurting my eyes."

Kagero took Rhajat by the chin and lifted her head. "They do look rather red… would you like to retire early?"

"I don't want to miss you painting, though." She smiled as best as she could. "I'll be fine, I promise."

The pair traveled back to the room Kagero had set aside exclusively for her artwork. Unfinished paintings were lined up against the wall-Rhajat expected that. What she didn't expect was to also find various sculptures clustered together onto one large table; or the pieces of rice paper strewn across the floor, poetry scrawled in her mother's handwriting; or the intricate woodcarvings hanging from the walls. Lying limp in a corner was a large piece of blue-grey silk. Her mother strode over to it, picking it up off the ground and pinning it to the corners of the only window in the room. She now saw that her mother had embroidered a one of Hoshido's most iconic mountains towering over a bubbling brook. The room was overcast in a tinge of blue-grey, making everything seem more ethereal than it already was. "That should make things easier on your eyes."

She'd never been able to see the entire room from her station behind the door frame. Kagero was not _just_ a painter; she had mastered many different mediums of art. "You're incredible, mother," she sighed in amazement.

"You flatter me. I am but a lowly ninja who enjoys her hobby. Come," she waved her hand for her to follow. They walked over together to her easel, and Kagero sat down on the stool. She then gently picked Rhajat up by the armpits and sat her down on her lap. "Is this okay?"

"Mmhm," she lied, her vision violently crossed from having been placed so close to the painting too quickly. She clenched her eyes shut in an effort to correct it, silently cursing her mother for being so careless.

"Good." With that, Kagero took her brush and began to paint.

After a minute, she opened her eyes an inch to peek at her mother's work. It was interesting seeing her paint up close. What began as a series of nonsensical lines etched lightly on the canvas soon resembled what could only be the image of one of the gods. "Who's this?" Rhajat asked.

"Igasato's patron," Kagero replied, voice low in reverence. "Her temple was destroyed in the onslaught. No one there is able-bodied enough to rebuild it, so I thought that a nice painting of her could serve as a source of inspiration in the mean time. I plan on giving it to Saizo once it's finished."

"I never knew you gave your work to other people. I always thought you either hid or burnt them."

"Oh, no," Kagero chucked lightly. "I love to share what I do with those who appreciate my art form. I've given many paintings to King Ryoma over the years, and a few to Saizo. I drew Orochi a custom deck of cards," her voice lowered as she continued. "Before I met your father, I once knew a rather… unlucky Nohrian man who added onto my work through his accidents, and I let him keep whatever I felt was too brilliant to destroy. And a Nohrian sorcerer who swore he could bring my paintings to life, so I gave a few to him as well." She sighed heavily. "I'll likely never know if he was successful…"

"Why not?"

Kagero shrugged. "No Hoshidan in their right mind goes to Nohr anymore. You risk your life just being by the boarder." She paused in her painting and inclined her head to look at Rhajat directly. "Don't get me wrong, daughter—I had a few Nohrian friends here and there, but most of them are dreadfully barbaric. Think back to the attack on Igasato, and how horrific that was. The Nohrians would do that to all of Hoshido if given the chance."

_To raze Hoshido to the ground._ It was a concept Rhajat had a hard time wrapping her head around. She could see how her mother's hand trembled slightly, her entire body suddenly stiff, and she decided it would be best to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. "Is that why you do this, mother? In hopes of sharing it?"

Kagero took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "… that's part of the reason, at least now as an adult. When I was your age, I drew and painted and wrote to escape my reality. And perhaps," Rhajat could hear the smirk in her voice, "as a means of rebellion."

Rhajat knew what her mother meant by this, and thought back to the ninja's she knew. Uncle Saizo: an utter nightmare. His twin brother, Kaze: a man who apparently valued himself so little, that he let his wife's tribe treat him like dirt for being an 'outsider'. Her mother: hazy with secrets, someone she felt she could never fully know. But of the three of them, her mother was surely the best adjusted…

"Do uncle or his brother do this sort of thing?"

By this point Kagero's trembling had stilled, and she went back to painting. "Not that I know of."

"Maybe they should. Maybe Saizo the Sixth should, too."

"Not everyone is inclined to art."

"It doesn't have to be art, just… something for themselves. To be more than a ninja."

Her mother remained silent for a few moments, concentrating on the contrast of soft, wispy eyebrows versus sharp, proud eyes. And then without warning, stopped mid-brushstroke. "Get up."

"Huh?"

Kagero pushed he off of her lap, with more force than was needed. Still sitting, she bent forward so that she and Rhajat were at eye level. "What is it that you want to do, daughter?"

Rhajat scrambled to spit out an answer, still startled (and a bit dizzy) from her mother's sudden change of course. "I-I wanted to watch you pai—"

"No, not that. It just occurred to me that you don't have anything for yourself, either."

Rhajat almost rolled her eyes; she decided to be reassuring instead. "There is no need to worry, mother. I have divination."

(The path of a diviner is no different from that of a ninja the path of a diviner is _no_ different from that of a ninja the path of a diviner—).

"That doesn't count!" she snapped. Rhajat jumped, and fought to maintain eye contact with her mother. "You must be more than what you are trained to be. So tell me: what do you like to do? Name one thing that gives you fulfillment."

"Well, um…" She felt her earlier embarrassment creep up again, burning her cheeks and ears and the tip of her nose. "I enjoy watching people from afar."

(Kagero stopped herself just shy of expressing her true feelings, both awed and alarmed that her daughter actually enjoyed surveilling others. At best, it was a task most ninjas found to be tedious and time consuming; at worst, it was a serious invasion of privacy). "You... do?"

"Yes. I get to learn a lot about people without getting teased or laughed at. In a way, it's almost like I have friends."

Her mother's face—round and pale as the moon, lovely in the dim blue light—twisted with the knowledge of this. It almost made her regret sharing; she expected to be reprimanded, but all Kagero did was rest a hand on her shoulder. "Did you watch me… _that_ way, because you feared that I might laugh at you?"

"No, I just didn't want to disturb you. But that _is_ the reason why I stalk other people."

(Kagero could make some educated guesses as to who her daughter had been watching—the children of the Wind Tribe, Saizo the Sixth, perhaps even his father. She was shy, and offbeat from having no siblings and spending most of her time indoors with Hayato). "I suppose you have no choice. Though I must tell you that your form is the sloppiest I have ever seen. You make so much noise that even a common third-rate ninja would pick up on your position right away. I will help you correct this, on the condition that you do not shame our family by using your skills for any malicious purposes—not now, or ever. Understood?"

Her mother's tone made the hair on her arms stand on end—that was her training voice, the one she used on Saizo the Sixth. But she was still her mother, willing to help, willing to spend time not only with her, but on her. Her heart felt full, and everything became a bit hazy around the edges—not from any tears, but she still wrote it off as being triggered by emotion. She nodded in affirmation, awed that the gods would so bless her.

So for that night and every night for the next year, Kagero took Rhajat out into the areas surrounding the Wind Tribe, where they would hide in the trees and train in 'reconnaissance' (or so they told Hayato). She learned quite a bit about the people of her tribe, but more about what it meant to sit quietly, to meld into one's surroundings, and most importantly, how to rely on sound as opposed to sight. The woods were alive with the singing of birds, the rustling of leaves, the murmurs of humans—and when her eyes really began to burn, she found that she didn't need to use them at all.

_What a relief,_ she would think to herself, letting her eyes slip closed. _What a relief._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My daughter has SUCH a hard time reaching out to people that she stalks them instead? Then let me help her be the _best damn stalker there ever was!"_
> 
> Parenting ftw.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is: this chapter is long, and I hope I got Selkie's 'voice' down correctly. Any feedback is welcome, both on that point and in general.

**III**

_age 10_

The spring of her tenth year was the first time she laid eyes on Princess Selkie. The sakura trees were in full bloom, shrill cicada songs lilted in the air, and Rhajat's life was never the same.

She entered the throne room after her parents, kowtowing before King Ryoma—her mother's boss, the man for whom all things were possible. She didn't raise her head (didn't  _dare_ ), but when she heard her mother shuffle forward to lay her forehead on his feet, she allowed her eyes to dart about the room freely. Growing up she'd been under the impression that her family was as rich as anyone could be, what with their expansive, breezy rooms, and the centuries-old Wind Tribe artifacts that adorned their home.

To be in Shirasagi suddenly made her home seem barren and desolate. Her eyes jumped from focal point to focal point, lost in the overstimulation of jade statues and marble pillars and art so intricate that it made her mother's work seem amateurish. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly cut wildflowers, and aside from the cicada hums and the flowing of fresh water into the elaborate indoor water feature, all was painfully silent. Rhajat would have loved the sterility of it—frigid and eerie as it was—if not for the rattled apprehension bouncing off her father.

And then there were the footsteps, soft and confused, neither coming or going. She strained to see as far back as she could without moving her head, and it took everything in her to smother the gasp of surprise that rose in her throat.

There was a kitsune in Shirasagi. Her foxlike ears were as big as her head, and they twitched along with the rest of her, an agitated frown worming its way across her face as her fidgeting grew more intense. She stamped her feet again, louder this time, and Rhajat saw hands on her shoulders clamp down and squeeze. The girl yelped.

"Sakura, if you cannot control your daughter, please remove her from my presence."

There was no anger in the king's booming voice, only annoyance shielded by a façade of indifference. Lady Sakura stammered out an apology and, still gripping her kitsune child by the shoulders, dragged her out of the throne room.

It took everything in Rhajat not to run out after her.

* * *

There was an old Wind Tribe myth about a nameless kitsune girl who was able to commune with the gods. Her gift attracted attention from far and wide, and humans from all walks of life traveled to her hamlet—to seek her advice, to make offerings to her, to beg for favor or forgiveness. The girl took it all in stride, never neglecting to remind the humans that as a mere messenger, she was not worthy of being worshipped in her own right. Some humans listened, some did not; but her humility only exacerbated her fame. The location of her hamlet became an open secret to everyone.

Including poachers. Plans were made to attack the hamlet and slaughter them all for their fur. The gods told her of what was to come, and she warned her people to flee. But the girl—pure and idealistic in all ways—elected to stay behind, knowing that her gift would only continue to attract fame, thus leaving her people in perpetual danger.

And just as was prophesized, the attack on the hamlet came to pass. A single arrow to the chest struck her down, and because of her diligence in serving as a medium between mortals and the divine, the gods offered her one wish as she lay dying. She asked them to grant her ability to all future kitsune, so that her people might continue to help humanity in the same way she had. She also thanked the gods for so blessing her with their favor, and expressed excitement over finally being able to see them with her own eyes.

They were so touched by the innocence of her sentiment and the selflessness of her request that the gods not only granted her wish, but also took it a step further in giving kitsune the gift of illusion as a defense to all future predators. Because of the actions of one girl, the kitsune as a whole ascended from being sub-human to semi-divine.

Rhajat tried not to believe the myths of her tribe (or any at all, for that matter) but this story was still one of her favorites. The kitsune girl could have wished for anything—perhaps even the deaths of her murderers—but instead chose to focus on what good she could spread after her death. Rhajat wished she could love anything as much as that girl loved humanity.

Soon after the little kitsune princess was taken out of the throne room, Rhajat and the other royal children were also dismissed so that the adults could speak in private. She did not engage with any of them as they strode past her, remembering her mother's stern admonishment:  _when it comes to royalty, one does not speak unless spoken to._  Back on Wind Tribe grounds she was the granddaughter of a chief, secluded in her home and much removed and far above everyone else in the tribe. Although the Wind Tribe was historically neutral in the conflicts between Hoshido and Nohr, the tribe had taken a decidedly pro-Hoshido bent since Fuga's ascension; that, along with having a Hoshidan mother, had given Rhajat a false sense of familiarity with the land of eternal sunshine. She may have even subconsciously thought of herself as equal to the royalty family, but in Shirasagi it hit her with all the subtlety of a bolt of lightning that they lived worlds apart. She was below the king and his siblings, below their spouses and children, below their retainers, below the strategists and advisors and mentors, below the eunuchs, below the amahs and servants, perhaps even below the slaves.

So although she did not approach them (didn't dare), she did put her stalking skills to use. She didn't much care for the oldest three, but she wanted to see the kitsune girl again, to make sure that she was real and not some apparition. She followed them at a respectful distance until they reached the end of a long hallway, crowding around a single door. The oldest of them—Prince Shiro—went inside, and came out a few minutes later with the kitsune girl following behind him. Her giant ears were wilted forward, framing red-rimmed eyes. She twisted her tiny fists in the fabric of her yakuta—delicate and childlike, etched with a pattern that Rhajat couldn't  _quite_  make out (but appeared to be chrysanthemums). The prince stroked the backs of her ears affectionately, the first loving gesture Rhajat had seen since entering the palace.

"I get it, dad's a stuffy jerk with a giant stick up his ass. But he's also the big cheese, so we gotta listen to his rules, no matter how stupid they are."

It was jarring to hear someone with the title of _prince_  speak with the coarseness of a commoner—but then, his mother spoke in much the same way. Grandfather Fuga told her much about Queen Scarlet. She was a Nohrian who denied her heritage under the guise of localism; she was a butcher pardoned for her crimes because of who she married; she refused to conform to Hoshidan culture, which naturally left her unfit to rule. But she was still their Queen, and these things were obviously never said to her face, so why would her son be corrected in taking after her?

"But big brother," the kitsune replied, long past crying but voice still wobbling, "how can he want me to stand still for that long? It's the worst!"

 _Big brother_. This initially struck Rhajat as odd, but then her mother and Orochi came to mind. It amused her to see the royal children do things the people in her life also did. For a moment, she almost felt like she could relate to them.

Hoshido's eldest princess—perfect posture, red hair flowing without a strand out of place—cleared her throat. "Your lack of restraint is  _concerning_ , Selkie. Your actions reflect back on not only our family, but on kitsune as a whole. You wouldn't want anyone to think poorly of your father's tribe, would you?"

Princess Selkie jumped, her posture crumbling as the weight of the world was set on her. "N-no…"

Prince Kiragi came around, roughly throwing his arm around Selkie's shoulders. "Aw, don't let Cael get to you! Just don't do it again, okay?"

Princess Selkie did not respond, her head bowed so deeply that her bangs overshadowed her eyes. Rhajat knew that no one could be so beaten down by only one scolding or punishment. In that moment, she was not a vessel or descendent of the gods; she was an animal, a slave meant to live her life through and for those above her. She was no better than Saizo the Sixth.

"Hey, you guys wanna go outside and play a game?" the prince suggested, his casual manner of speaking doing little to conceal his tight tone. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Selks?"

Princess Selkie's head shot up, eyes brimming with unshed tears. She smiled big and wide, and Rhajat's heart shot up into her throat. "A game? You really mean it?!"

"Yeah!" Prince Shiro nodded enthusiastically, eager to please the baby sister of his heart. "We'll play anything you want."

"Oh, oh, okay! Let's go outside right now!"

Rhajat just barely had enough time to conceal herself further in the shadows as the four royal 'siblings' whizzed past her—all of them, even prim and proper Princess Caeldori. She waited a few minutes before her impatience got the best of her; she slipped out of her hiding place and stalked down the hallway after them, footsteps so light that her feet hardly touched the ground. She made it to a large door, and seeing no other way that the royal children could have gone, pushed it open just enough so that she could slip outside.

She took one step onto the grass, and was immediately staggered by the brightness of daylight. The rainbow halos surrounding the sun were more vibrant than they usually were, and Rhajat initially took this to be a good omen. But her eyes soon adjusted, and across the yard she saw the four royal siblings all clustered together, with two other children standing at a distance that communicated both respect and familiarity; Rhajat guessed them to be their retainers (or at least, retainers in training). They obviously all knew each other, and Rhajat could not have felt more out of place if she tried.

Once again she could not bring herself to engage, so she instead wandered off on her own. She found a small hill on which to station herself, in the shade of a sakura tree in bloom. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the slight shift in darkness; once they had, she opened up her bag and pulled out the textbook  _Basics in the Art of Abacomancy_ ; she proceeded to leaf through a book she had long ago memorized. She wished Saizo the Sixth were there with her, with his engaging smile and magnetic wit. He knew his place just as well as anyone—that was, infinitely below the royal family—but he was also fearless in a way she was not. He would have kept her company; he would have broken the ice with the other children for her. She cursed his father for going blind and losing his position as the king's primary retainer. Her head pounded, the beginnings of a throbbing headache.

"Hey, we're gonna play a game. You want in?"

She looked up and saw the prince standing over her, a wooden sword slung over his shoulder and a confident smile plastered on his face.  _Of course he's confident,_  Rhajat thought to herself.  _He's the king's only child; his position is as secure as they come._ "No, thank you."

He frowned, and for a moment Rhajat almost took him as being genuinely upset. "You sure? You seem kinda lonely sitting here all by yourself."

"I like being alone," she grumbled, mentally cursing herself. "Now, please—"

"Hey hey!" Princess Selkie bounced up to the two of them, looking far happier than she had been earlier. She locked eyes with Rhajat. "Are you gonna play with us?"

  
Her voice was beautiful—so delightfully  _hoarse_. In that voice Rhajat heard a girl who spent as much time as she could outdoors, tumbling about, screaming her joy for all of Hoshido to hear.

"Nah," Prince Shiro began to answer for her. "She said she doesn't wanna—"

 _"No!"_  Rhajat interrupted, startling both the royal 'siblings' in front of her as well as the children just down the hill. She stared at them; they stared back. When she could no longer stand it, Rhajat cleared her throat and set her book aside as quickly and casually as she could. "Forgive me. Yes, I will join you."

Price Shiro eyed her curiously, but Princess Selkie seemed to immediately forget her outburst. "Yay! We're gonna play! C'mon!"

She grabbed Rhajat's hand, pulled her up to her feet, and dragged her along as she ran down the hill to join the others. When they made it to the bottom, Selkie turned to Rhajat and locked eyes with her again. The color reminded her of fresh flower buds. "What's you're name?"

"I'm… my name is Rhajat," she answered, wracking her brain for the formalities her mother used when addressing the king. "It's an honor to make your acquainta—"

"Me too! I'm so happy to meet you!" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm Selkie! And that's big brother Shiro, big sister Caeldori, and big brother Kiragi," she pointed at the siblings of her heart as she introduced them, her tail swaying serenely in a way that counteracted her hyperactive nature. "Hey, guys!" she called over to her siblings and the other children, waving one hand in the air and clasping the other on Rhajat's shoulder. "This is Rhajat!"

The aspiring witch bowed her head, hoping to hide the furious blush spreading across her cheeks. She sounded so  _happy_  to showcase her, and the very thought of someone like Princess Selkie wanting to be around  _her_  left Rhajat with a funny, flighty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt nervous and calm all at once, comparable to how she felt whenever her father hexed her. She turned to the princess, her face less than an inch away from the other girl's cheek, and wondered what manner of spell the kitsune had cast on her. "Princess Selkie—"

The girl chopped her hand through the air, her face overcast with annoyance. "No, no, no! Just 'Selkie', okay? None of that dumb princess stuff."

"A-apologies," Rhajat stammered, mentally berating herself. "I just…" She scanned the courtyard, desperate to find some way to bring the subject away from herself. She figured Selkie wouldn't want to wax poetic about Shirasagi's architecture, or discuss the intricacies of flower arranging. She didn't seem to have the attention span required to discuss the symbolic significance of certain plants, or the magical potency of wild herbs. She was tempted to ask Selkie if she could see the rainbow rings that encapsulated the sun; she once asked her father about them, and he didn't seem know what she was talking about. If Selkie could also see them, it could only mean that they were kindred spirits—but part of her was afraid to ask. Eventually, she settled on the most mundane topic of conversation she could think of. "Who are they?" she waved half-heartedly the direction of the two mystery children.

"Them? The girl is Mitama. She's a poet, and she once called me 'dreadfully insufferable', whatever that means! She's gonna be Caeldori's retainer one day." Before Rhajat could ask why the girl's irises were shaped like stars, Selkie moved on. "The boy is Hisame. He likes pickles, and… what's the other one again? I don't know, he doesn't talk to me much. He's gonna be Kiragi's retainer."

"You don't have a retainer?"

"Nope! Hisame's dad works for uncle Takumi, and Mitama's dad works for aunt Hinoka. They're doing the whole legacy-thing." Selkie shrugged. "The people who used to protect my mom up and disappeared one day, and she doesn't wanna hire anyone new, so there's no one who would automatically be my retainer. I have to find one myself, but I'm not in a rush." She turned to face Rhajat. "My mom says choosing a retainer is sort of like getting married: you're with that person through thick and thin, you share almost everything together, and you should have a really deep love for one another."

"'Should' being the operative word," Rhajat quipped before she could stop herself.

Selkie paused before once again breaking out into a wide grin. "Yeah, I guess there are a lot of unhappy partnerships out there! Which is pretty sad when you think about it. You know, daddy once told me everyone stays who they are in the afterlife. If you were a king, you're a king in heaven, too… and your wife is still your wife, and your kids are still your kids. So I guess you would keep all your retainers too, right? How awful would it be to be stuck with someone you don't love, forever and ever?"

Rhajat's mind immediately turned to Saizo—who remained dedicated to King Ryoma despite everything, even training up his son in hopes that he would someday be Prince Shiro's retainer. Would King Ryoma firing him count as a divorce? Or did the gods not believe in such things, regarding even the Retainers Oath as everlasting? She didn't care much for her uncle, but her stomach still churned at the thought of him being eternally bound to the man who so callously threw him away.

"Hey, you guys done talking yet?" Prince Shiro called out to them. "When are we gonna get to the game?"

Selkie snapped her head to face him, all focus on their previous conversation immediately forgotten. "Now!" She leapt over to her big brother, ears twitching in excitement. "Now now now!"

"All right, settle down ya little scamp," he ruffled Selkie's hair, and turned to Rhajat once she made her way over to them. "We're gonna play a game called Catch the Kitsune. We'll split up into two teams, and use our practice weapons here," he pointed at his wooden sword, "to try and back Selkie into a corner. First team to do so wins."

This took Rhajat aback, and she immediately remembered her tribe's kitsune myth—the one she didn't want to believe, but still believed. "That sounds terrible.”

Prince Shiro raised an eyebrow. "'Terrible'? Why?"

"Kitsunes are vessels of the gods!" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "To hunt them, even as part of a game, is blasphemous."

Selkie crinkled her nose. "Vessels to what? Blaspha-whozit?"

Princess Caeldori walked up to the two of them and placed a hand on Prince Shiro's shoulder. "The idea that kitsune are sacred… it's a Wind Tribe superstition. That's where you're from, isn't it?" Rhajat didn't answer, but the elder princess nodded anyway. "Don't mind her. Each tribe has it's own unique set of beliefs, and we should do our best to respect that. Perhaps we could play another game.

Selkie pouted and crossed her arms. "But I wanted to play Catch the Kistune!"

This floored Rhajat—the idea of a kitsune  _wanting_  to be hunted was totally beyond her. She turned to look at the little princess, and took all of her in: her expensive yakuta, her delicate hairpins, the shock of blossom colored hair that complimented her otherwise glossy blonde coat. For such a rambunctious girl, she was as made up as any of the other women in the royal family. She was a decorative piece, prized for her rarity: half kitsune, half human, a princess shielded from the horrors often inflicted on her kind. Her desire to be 'hunted' was nothing more than a testament to the privileged life she led. "Well, if you're okay with it…"

"Yay!" Selkie took Rhajat's hands in her own—soft,  _so_  soft, just as her name implied—and began to jump up and down. However, Princess Caeldori was not satisfied.

"I wouldn't want you to sacrifice your sensibilities for our sake, Rhajat. Perhaps we could modify the rules." She placed a finger to her chin, and turned to look over her shoulder, at Prince Kiragi and the two retainers in the making. "Well, it would have been nice to have two teams of three play against each other, but it's not the end of the world." She turned back to Rhajat and Selkie. "How would the two of you like to be your own team? Selkie, you can run about as you always do, and Rhajat can defend you from the rest of us."

Selkie nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Sounds like fun!"

Princess Caeldori turned to Rhajat. "Is this agreeable to you?"

"Yes," she mumbled, trying to hide her excitement. To be on the same team as Selkie—to  _defend_  her—was beyond anything she could have expected, or even deserved. It seemed that her rainbow ring was a good omen, after all.

"Very well," she turned to Prince Shiro. "Do you supposed the five of us should just play as one team then?"

Prince Shiro grimaced. "Five against two? That doesn't sound fair."

Princess Caeldori brought her hand up to her mouth, hiding her grin. "You baby her too much," she teased in a low voice, though Rhajat could still hear her. "She'll be fine. Plus, Rhajat will be helping her. You know how the tribal types are, fighting as soon as they're out of the womb."

That last part simply wasn't true. She was trained in the  _art_  of divination; she didn't know any battle techniques. With the way her parents sometimes spoke, she doubted they ever intended for her to fight. She felt a sick nervousness wash over her as she realized she would all but surely embarrass herself with her abysmal lack of experience, but before she could voice her concerns, the prince called everyone to attention, intending to begin the game.

It would be two against five. The objective for the team of five—the hunters—was to back Selkie into a corner, before the adults came out to retrieve them. If the team of two—the kitsune and her ally—could hold out until the end of the meeting, it would be the equivalent to an escape, sealing their victory.

Rhajat was given a watered-down version of the Rat Spirit fan, which was just as much of a practice weapon as Prince Shiro's wooden sword. Selkie used her beaststone—by  _no means_  a practice weapon—to morph into a fox. Rhajat watched her in awe. She had never seen a kitsune transform before, and it was… she was—

"Ready!"

Broken from her reverie, she looked up and saw that the five of them—Prince Shiro, Princess Caeldori, Prince Kiragi, Mitama and Hisame—had situated themselves in what even  _she_  knew was battle formation. Prince Shiro and Hisame both wielded wooden swords—huge, hulking things that looked both comedic and tragic in their tiny hands. Princess Caeldori carried a wooden naginata. Prince Kiragi sported a wooden bow and several arrows in his quiver. Out of all of them, Mitama piqued her interest. She wielded no weapon, but that wasn't surprising—she was dressed as a shrine maiden, who were healers in practice. What was strange was that she also had no rod. The girl instead stood by her liege's side, flexing her fingers.

Behind Rhajat, Selkie got up on her hind legs, belly exposed, her terrible height made all the more evident. She was easily three times bigger than Caeldori, the tallest among them.

"Set!"

Rhajat had never participated in a battle before, but she had seen her parents spar. She and Hayato were both diviners, so why shouldn't their battle stance be the same? With that in mind, she readjusted her posture and stood with her feet shoulder-length apart—but she also cocked her hips ever so slightly, resting her weight on the front of her feet.  _Those who deal in magic should remain fluid._ Her father's words in mind, she brought up her arm and bent it so that her forearm was level with her chest. She opened her fan, the watered-down version of an already weak spell spanning its folds, and began to gently wave it back and forth. Just like her father would do.

" _Go!"_

* * *

 

When Rhajat regained consciousness, she was on the ground, copious amounts of blood pouring out of her broken nose. In the distance, she could hear Lady Sakura shouting.

"How could you be so careless? I told you not to play rough in the courtyard!"

"But mom," Selkie began, not a hint of remorse in her voice, "we won! We won we won we won!"

 _We… won?_  Rhajat thought back to the events of the game. The five of them charging at her and Selkie head-on; stunning both princes with a spell she had never before used; dodging Prince Kiragi's arrows; getting hit in the shoulder with the sharp end of Princess Caeldori's naginata; getting Hisame in the back of his knees, causing him to fall; paying close mind to where Selkie was, mentally praising her whenever she landed an attack and cursing her whenever the opposing team agained the upper hand. Everything had been going smoothly until the sun caught in her eyes, the prickling pain of it stunning her so badly that it gave Mitama—who until that point had been dreadfully slow and easily avoidable—the opportunity to punch her square in the face.

Rhajat remembered falling to the ground, with Mitama falling on top of her as she continued to rain down blows with her fists. Even she had to admit it was truly impressive to behold the massive amount of strength the girl wielded behind her tiny fists. Eventually Mitama left her alone, believing she had been neutralized as a threat. Rhajat felt herself losing consciousness, and the last thing she could remember doing was sending out five rat spirits in rapid succession, aiming them at each of her opponents as they gathered around Selkie. Whether it was that last move or Selkie's own quick thinking that gave them the victory, Rhajat didn't much care. She was able to defend Selkie, and that was all that mattered.

She stared up into the sky, tuning out Lady Sakura's shouting. Just when she gathered the strength to sit up, Kagero came into her field of vision, her features as impassive as ever.

Rhajat quickly sat up, ignoring the dull flowering of pain that radiated from the center of her face. "Mother, I can explain—"

Kagero held up her hand, interrupting her. She then held out that same hand to Rhajat; she took it, and her mother helped her to stand. She stared at Rhajat for what felt like an eternity, studying her with new eyes. "Rhajat…" Kagero began solemnly, before breaking out into what was possibly the biggest smile she'd  _ever_  seen on her mother's face. She clasped a hand on Rhajat's shoulder in a way she only ever saw her do to Saizo (before he had been blinded). "Lady Hinoka told me everything. You were  _magnificent_. Today, you make this old ninja proud."

 _A high compliment,_  she thought to herself in wonder. This wasn't the first time Kagero ever told her such a thing, in general; but this was the first time she'd ever expressed her pride not as a mother, but a  _fighter_. It was recognition not of what she could someday be, but who she already was. "Thank you, mother."

"Come," she extended her arm to wrap it around Rhajat's shoulder. "It seems that the monk's daughter is a shrine maiden herself. If she can break your nose, she at least owes you a healing."

"Wait!" a voice called out before they could walk away. They turned and saw Selkie running up to them, her sunny grin fading when she saw the extent of Rhajat's injury. "Oh no! A-are you okay?!"

"She'll be fine. Please do not vex yourself, my lady," Kagero assured her.

"There has to be something I can do to make it up to you. I don't like seeing anyone get hurt, especially f-for my sake." She placed a finger to her lips, and a moment later her eyes lit up. "Oh, I know! I can talk to my mom, and she can try to convince Uncle Ryoma to let you stay here sometimes! That way we can play more often, and your mom won't have to always be the one travelling to visit you!"

That last but of information made Rhajat take pause. She slowly turned to look up at her mother, who seemed to have frozen in place. "What is she talking about…?"

"You don't know?" Selkie didn't seem to catch the apprehension that began to radiate from Rhajat. "Uncle Ryoma needs his retainers around all the time because of… reasons." The kitsune girl paused to cough, and then continued. "So that means your mom is moving in with us!"

Kagero was moving away? Would her father also have to leave? What was going to happen to her? "M-mom—?"

"Lady Selkie, I am glad to see that you've taken such a liking to my daughter. I truly hope that you and Lady Sakura are successful in obtaining permission to allow Rhajat extended visits. Please excuse us, we really must see about getting Rhajat to a healer."

"Oh, right!" Selkie suddenly took both of Rhajat's hands into hers. "We really have to do this again sometime. I'll make it happen. I  _promise._ "

These words would have made her blush under normal circumstances, but she couldn't feel much of anything besides the physical pain radiating from her nose and the panicked confusion clutching at her chest. Selkie didn't seem to notice. (Though it is possible that her expression changed from one of warmth to one of concern, just as Rhajat turned to leave. Either way, the aspiring witch would never know.)

"What she said is true," Kagero confirmed once she was sure they were out of Princess Selkie's earshot. "King Ryoma demands that I move to the capital so that I may be readily available to him."  
"Tell him no."

"I cannot."

"Who cares if he fires you? Father makes enough to support us." A moment later she realized that she had no idea whether or not he actually did. "A-and even if he doesn't," she amended, "it's more important that we stay together! Mother,  _please—!"_

"That's  _enough!"_  Kagero hissed, grabbing her by the forearm and halting them both to a stop. She was sure that whatever pride her mother felt for her before had completely vanished. "We have no choice in the matter. The king is to be obeyed without question. Those who do not submit pay a heavy price."

_"Rhajat!"_

They both looked up to see Hayato standing a few feet away, eyes puffy and red. A look of abject horror stretched across his face. "Your nose…!"

He insisted on healing her himself, and Rhajat tried her best to ignore how his swollen face seemed ready to break back apart at a moment's notice. She didn't—couldn't—blame him. It took everything in her not to burst into tears, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is hard. Please forgive.
> 
> Saizo the Sixth finally has a role besides That Kid Who's Enduring Training from Hell, Hayato is a good guy, Rhajat begins to come into her own as a witch. 
> 
> That's all, let's get to it.

**IV**

_ages 10-11_

They left Shirasagi that bright night, and made it back to Wind Tribe grounds in two days time. Hayato and Rhajat barely spoke, keeping their sights fixed on the terrain ahead, the space between them ice-cold and growing ever more infinite.

As soon as they arrived home, Hayato turned to Rhajat and told her, "I have to go report our change in circumstance to your grandfather. Do you want to come along?"

Rhajat shook her head, hoping that the swaying of her dark hair would mask the emotion that colored her cheeks. She knew what would happen if she went to see Grandfather Fuga. As soon as Hayato told him the news, he would turn to Rhajat and ask in his softest voice, _this is quite the change… are you all right, dear?_ A knot formed in her chest at the mere thought of his concern, and Rhajat did not want to cry in front of her Chief.

Hayato nodded. "Then I'll see you at home. I shouldn't be away for more than an hour."

Rhajat walked from the entrance of their village back to their home, the winding streets of the Wind Tribe silent and still in the early morning. She was forced to pause every few minutes to brace for the strong gusts of wind, the air around her angry and hot as the sun beat down on her in an almost accusatory manner. Her very mind recoiled at memories of Kagero. She knew some people in Nohr worshiped the moon as a goddess; but to Rhajat, her mother _was_ the moon, made invisible by Hoshido's persistent sunlight.

An angry heat rose in her chest. The Hoshidans had everything, and still they wanted more?

But in the face of that anger, her mind turned to Selkie. Rhajat bit her lip to suppress her sudden urge to smile, and a gust of wind nearly took her down. She came close to tripping before latching onto a residential fence. On any other day she would have cursed herself for such stupidity; but Rhajat laughed instead, amused by her own carelessness. She imagined how Selkie might react to such an intense climate, and decided that her little princess would surely try to befriend the wind.

She soon made it to the Wind Tribe's largest home, perched atop its loneliest hill, the off-white color of the exterior contrasting beautifully with the thicket of forest that served as its backdrop. Rhajat pushed open her front door—lockless, unlike Shirasagi where everything was bolted or guarded—and her entire field of vision was immediately overcast in a thick, muted darkness. She rubbed her eyes furiously, the explosions of colors she saw akin to the vibrant hues that arose from her father's cauldron whenever he brewed a particularly strong potion. She brought her hands down, and still saw next to nothing. There was no maliciousness in the air; she could sense no magical intent. A small, panicked whine escaped her lips, and she went back to rubbing her eyes

Through her alarm she heard someone calling, soft and far off. It was a boy's voice. She absently wrote it off as one of the village children trying to wake up his siblings to begin their morning chores; but as the calling increasingly became stronger, and she realized that the sound wasn't coming from the village proper, but from the back of the house.

"Master Kagero! Master Kagero…?"

Rhajat froze, her heart still thrashing wildly in her chest. _Gods, it's Saizo the Sixth._

Her hands fell again to her sides, and despite her fear she set out to cross the room. She hadn't sought him out since his mother passed, but he was a fixture in her life all the same—distant and reliable, a pillar of normalcy. She pushed open the back door with more force that was necessary, grunting shortly as she nearly tripped onto the ground of her mother's training area.

She bend over, knees on her hands, trying to recapture the breath that her panic squeezed out of her. She kept her eyes clenched shut.

"Who is that?" Saizo asked, his voice tight with alarm.

"It's Rhajat." He paused for a moment, before asking, "Are… you okay?"

She knew the question was directed at her, and clenched her teeth to keep herself from cursing out loud. She slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes a peak.

Saizo the Sixth stood there, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Standing beside him was his father, as surly as ever. She ignored the blurry haze everything seemed to take on, relived that she could see anything at all. She opened her eyes further and slowly stood upright. "I'm fine. Excuse my behavior, I didn't expect anyone else to be here."

"We've come here every day, for five days straight. No one in this blasted village was willing to share anything with us."

"They probably didn't know anything." Saizo the Sixth tried.

"Shut up." His father swiftly commanded, before redirecting to Rhajat. "Where have you been? Where is Kagero?"

Rhajat clenched her fist. She would tell him—she would _tell_ him, if only to shatter the sense of entitlement he had over her mother. But she did want to make one thing clear, first. "No, he's right. No one in the village knew anything. My father isn't chief yet, and sees no reason to be so transparent." She cleared her throat, pleased with the small smile that ghosted across Saizo the Sixth's face. "As for where we were, we were called to the capital by King Ryoma. The entire trip, there and back, took five days."

"And why didn't she say anything?"

_She didn't have to. She's not your slave._ "The announcement came at short notice. He wanted to see us immediately."

Saizo considered this for a moment, and then nodded in understanding. "Very well. I can't fault any of you for that—King Ryoma is to be obeyed at all costs. So," he took a blind step forward, "is your mother inside?"

This was the first time since the invasion that Saizo wasn't angry on some level, and she almost didn't want to ruin that. _(Almost.)_ "My mother is—"  
"Rhajat?" She turned her head, and saw her father closing the door behind him.

"Father? What are you doing here? I thought you were off to see Grandfather."

"He's en route to Izumo on a diplomatic mission. Won't be back for at least a week." He looked past her, and his eyebrows rose briefly in surprise. "Ah, I see father and son are here."

Saizo nodded, and beside him, Saizo the Sixth bowed in greeting to his master's spouse.

Hayato narrowed his eyes. "Rhajat, I don't believe Saizo the Sixth has ever seen the inside of our home. Why don't you show him around?"

She knew what her father was trying to do, but that was okay. The only secret she kept from her father was that he could not keep a secret from her. She waved Saizo inside, and he wordlessly followed behind her.

When she stepped into her home, she saw that her father took the time to light both their prayer and utility candles. Rainbow halos clashed with one another, and Rhajat could see everything before her with ease. Without turning to look at him, she told Saizo the Sixth, "there is only one room in our house that is of any importance at all."

"Your training room, right?" She turned on her heel, and saw the wry smile on his face. "What, you thought you could see me, but I couldn't see you? "

She quickly turned away from him, embarrassed. Saizo the Sixth didn't seem to notice. He moved past her, confidently walking about the house as though it were his own. It was only when he got to the landing of their staircase that she thought it wise to follow him.

"Are you always this rude?" she hissed.

"Of course," he replied without skipping a beat. "How else do you think I get anything?"

They made it to her training room. Saizo the Sixth stood in the doorway, his wide eyes studying everything with what Rhajat considered to be morbid fascination. Annoyed, she shoved past him, eager to get to her window.

When she got there she was that Hayato had craned his neck up to look at Saizo. He gazed into eyes that could not gaze back, undeterred by Saizo's blank stare. He lowered his head again. Rhajat narrowed her eyes, wondering if she really was seeing a _pout_ on her father's face, or if the light was playing tricks on her.

"Your son…" Hayato shook his head briefly, the hair tassels that marked him as a seasoned diviner continuing to sway even after he found his resolve. " _I_ wouldn't be opposed to taking him on as a student."

Saizo scoffed. "My son eats, sleeps, and trains. He hardly has time for…" he drifted off before abruptly sweeping his arm in the direction of the house—adjacent to, but separate from, the training area. _"This."_

Hayato rolled his eyes. "Please. You know as well as I do that without Kagero, the boy's ninja training is _over._ At this point, he can either enter service as a low-level ninja for some landed gentry, or branch out into other fields of study." He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, his posture rigid. "You wife once mentioned to me that the boy has a certain talent, but many parents will make false claims about their child having this gift or another. I trust that it's been properly vetted?"

This was a formality, but Saizo still bristled with anger. "Are you accusing Orochi of lying?!"

Hayato took a step back and, though Saizo couldn't see him, held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm not saying anything that _you_ haven't implied. For as long as I've known you, you've always been dismissive about the gift that your son _supposedly_ has. I can only assume that her claims were exaggerated."

Her father was lying. There were many nights where she laid away listening to her parents argue about Saizo, and one of his biggest grievances was how Saizo so readily wrote off his son's gift. ( _'Why would that dastard force his son to squander such potential?')_

"Spiritual matters were of the utmost importance to Orochi—she wouldn't lie about something like that. But our son was born to carry on the Saizo name. A ninja has no use for magic." The man crossed his arms, his nose crinkling. "Besides, he only dreams about things like village gossip, or the sort of pastries your local baker will give him out of charity. His predictions are of little importance."

"His dreams are inconsequential because he hasn't had the chance to refine his talent. It's one thing to be able to predict the mundane, but what if he were able to predict political events, or enemy moves? There's a reason why prophets occupy only the highest positions in court life. He has the potential to transform what it means to be born into your bloodline."

Saizo huffed. "If I go by what you're saying, he will no longer be a ninja. Our tradition will be destroyed."

Hayato stifled what would have been a bark of laughter; it instead came out as a short, incredulous snort. "Your tradition is to have your son serve the crown prince of Hoshido. There are scores of skilled ninja living in Hoshido _right now_ , but they say a clairvoyant of your son's caliber is born once every hundred years. Surely, King Ryoma would choose a phoenix over a common rooster to protect his son."

Rhajat quickly glanced at Saizo the Sixth, and saw his eyebrows raised in surprise. She was sure he had never seen anyone speak to his father so bluntly. "Rhajat?"

She turned away. "Yes?"

"If my dad attacks your dad, he'll be able to defend himself, right?"

" _Saizo!"_

It was the fifth in line calling out for his son, eyes blank but still facing the direction of their window. "Get down here!"

He was so quick Rhajat literally did not see him leave. She turned and he was gone; turned back to the window and there he was again, sprinting up to his father. "Yeah, dad…?"

Rhajat backed away from the window, her vision once again sharply muted by the darkness of her home. She didn't care to see what happened next. Saizo knew that they were eavesdropping—surely, he would beat his son for such a blatant show of disrespect. Certainly her own father would be so offended by the display that he would banish Saizo from his home permanently, at last able to do so without her mother's intervention.

She imagined the bleak future in store for Saizo the Sixth. He and his father would return to Igasato in disgrace. Unable to continue his ninja training, he would enter service for some family unworthy of the Saizo name. He would never earn enough to rebuild his fallen village; he would never restore the honor lost to his lineage. He _could_ find a girl from a family lowly or desperate enough to marry their daughter into Igasato, but they'd never be able to repopulate it themselves. Instead of the high threshold Saizo the Sixth had been born into, Saizo the Seventh would be born into a village ravaged by war and a family torn to pieces.

She heard someone ascend up the stairs a few minutes later. "Rhajat? Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes, and saw only the vague outline of her father standing in the doorway. Swallowing the hot panic that rose in her chest, she willed her eyes to focus. "I'm fine."

Hayato did not answer immediately; there was a pause, an awkwardness that he could not address and she refused to. "Prepare our guest bedroom," he eventually said. "Turn it into a space fit for an oneiromancer."

* * *

"Wow! I can't believe we're gonna be living together!" Saizo the Sixth threw his arm around Rhajat's shoulders. "It'll be like a permanent sleepover!"

A week had passed, and in that time Saizo the Sixth had escorted his father back to Igasato, returning with a small sack slung over his shoulder. In it he carried all of his worldly possessions: spare training gear, his smallclothes, a set of knives, a book of pastry recipes, and a golden hair comb.

She stared pointedly at Hayato, imagining all the awful things she would do to him if he weren't her father. She supposed that the only silver lining was that Saizo would remain in Igasato; she couldn't get a straight answer out of her father over whose decision that had been, but that in and of itself provided something of an answer.

* * *

Over the course of the next year, Rhajat settled into a routine modified to accommodate Kagero's absence and Saizo the Sixth's presence.

She resumed her normal training schedule with her father. She rose half an hour before Hayato to sweep the floor of her training room and cleanse it for a new day of study. They would then meditate while facing the sun, and Rhajat never failed to take comfort in the burnt orange hue that burned behind her eyelids (though everything would always be a bright blotted mess afterward). They would then return inside, Rhajat eventually learning to hold onto Hayato's elbow for support after tripping in the darkness one too many times.

He would proceed to his lesson plan. Long past were the days when Rhajat would be distracted by the commotion going on in her mother's training area. They focused on plants and herbs on the last day of every week, the backbone to many of the spells Hayato had written himself; the first day would be spent on technical information. Lessons varied besides that, though he typically grouped them together by type. For example, a week focusing on crystals would begin with a factual lesson on the different types and their properties, followed by lessons in healing, lithomancy, crystal meditation, and brewing gem elixirs. Other weeks would be focused on things like summoning, ancestor and deity worship, or studying the more obscure forms of divination.

Her education was still broad and varied, as was typical for most eleven-year-old witches. But every so often, Hayato would take a moment to remind her that one day, she would need to specialize.

"Plant magic and charms are what I was meant for. Orochi was called to cartomancy, and her son to oneiromancy. Someday your field will be made clear to you, and you must maintain an open mind to whatever that may be."

* * *

Saizo the Sixth slept all day. When Rhajat complained, Hayato insisted it was part of his training.

"He sees things in his sleep. We're trying to refine his gift. _Your_ training also remains my primary focus, and this allows me to teach you as I always have."

Rhajat was only vaguely aware of just how little sleep her father was getting. He trained her for no less than twelve hours, then left her to her own devices to go wake Saizo the Sixth for his training. Just as Saizo the Sixth was not allowed to sit in on her lessons, she was not allowed to observe his—but she knew they went on until at least midnight, if not even later than that.

But Rhajat soon found that she enjoyed the solitude of having the entire second story of the house to herself during the bright-night. Although he hated her paintings, Hayato had left Kagero's art room untouched, an unofficial shrine. Rhajat would spend most of her free time in there, running her fingers through her mother's paintbrushes, wrapping herself in her embroidered silk sheets, straining her fickle eyes to see every detail in Kagero's smudgy charcoal drawings.

One day, she picked up a calligraphy brush. She knew her mother used them exclusively to either practice her penmanship or write out formal letters to those in Shirasagi. Rhajat briefly considered doing the same, but ultimately decided against it. She doubted that Selkie had the attention span to get through an entire letter, and whatever she sent Kagero would undoubtedly be screened before it ever made it to her hands. She didn't like the idea of other people being privy to her conversations with her mother.

And so, with the sunlight muted out to blue-gray by a certain piece of embroidered silk, surrounded by those bleak and morose paintings, among all the dust and clutter and longing, Rhajat wrote her first spell.

She was sure her mother was worried for her and her father, so she wrote it to put her mother's concerns to rest. She lit a candle, closed her eyes, and whispered her chant. She imagined the smoke plumes carrying her lulling spell all the way to her mother's ears.

* * *

"Hey, Rhajat! Can you come in here a minute?"

It was Saizo the Sixth calling her from the kitchen. Six months into his training he, had begun venturing into the kitchen. The result of that had been something Rhajat couldn't criticize, and Hayato even less so. He would bake pastries for them, his natural talent in this area certainly comparable to his talents in both ninjitsu and divination. However, Hayato insisted on a clean house, and the time needed to undo the messes he made often caused him to be late to his own lessons. This was one such time.

Rhajat wandered into the room, where Saizo the Sixth was mopping cake batter up off the floor. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What is it now?"

Her tone was bitter, but Saizo the Sixth still smirked in that wry way that never failed to infuriate her. "Has your dad told you that I've started dreaming of Prince Shiro?"

"Nope." Though Rhajat supposed it was only natural. The firstborn son of the Saizo line was to serve the crown prince of Hoshido; it had been that way for five generations, without fail. Surely it was the desire of his ancestors for him to continue this tradition, and to that end they had taken to projecting images of the new crown prince into his mind.

"Well, I have." Saizo the Sixth shook his head, chuckling. "I'm tellin' you, that guy _loves_ to fight. _Super_ competitive. He'll take on anything that moves, just to prove he's better." He slowed down in his mopping, eyes clouding over in thought. "It's sort of… off-putting, to be honest."

She sighed, pushing herself from the doorframe. "I have no interest in Prince Shiro."

"Rhajat," Saizo the Sixth said, his tone surprisingly firm. " _You're not hearing me._ Isn't there someone you know who's always up for a sparring match? Someone who's currently at Shirasagi…?"

She stopped, her back to Saizo the Sixth. She supposed he could be talking about any one of the royal children or their retainers-in-training, but Selkie was the only one of any importance to her—and Saizo the Sixth knew nothing of the friendship they had formed.

And then it came to her, the one person who was of significance to them both. She spun around on her heel. "Mother? You saw mother…?"

"You got it! If I'm gonna be honest, I've been dreaming of her for a while."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We never get to talk! I also figured it wasn't worth mentioning. When she wasn't serving King Ryoma or training, she'd just sort of… _sit there_ with this tense look on her face." He shook his head, setting the mop aside. "No one gave a shit. That place is so goddamn sterile."

"Of course. Mother doesn't _want_ to be there—"

"No shit, she doesn't. But who can stand up to King Ryoma? Whatever that guy wants, he gets. But," he went on, smile returning, "I didn't call you in here to tell you that. I actually have good news."

"Yes?" Rhajat began reluctantly, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. She didn't dare hope…

"Yeah. The good news is, she's taken to sparring with Prince Shiro." He took a towel and began to wipe what appeared to be flour off the walls. "For all his faults, I've never seen Shiro _force_ anyone to do anything. And sparring with him isn't something she's required to do. She's doing it for fun."

_For fun…?_ "Mother isn't upset anymore?"

"Doesn't look like it. I wouldn't say she's _happy_ , but she seems more… at ease. It was an abrupt change, too." The boy smiled knowingly. "I wonder what could have made that happen?"

Without a word of parting or thanks, Rhajat briskly turned away from him. She walked a few paces before breaking out into a sprint once she reached the staircase. She needed to get to Kagero's room.

She'd made something magical happen, all on her own. It was only natural that she would seek to repeat her success.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What goes down in this chapter ended up being longer than expected, so I decided to split it up into two parts. What starts off here'll come full circle in part two.
> 
> That's all. Comments are greatly appreciated!

**V (part 1)**

_age 12_

It was over a year before she was invited back to Shirasagi.

"Your mother and I have been writing each other, but you know I had to be careful with my words," Hayato explained as he helped Rhajat finish her packing. "Once you have a moment alone with her, do let her know everything that's been going on."

Rhajat surveyed what she would be taking with her. She packed her newest yakutas, their patterns appropriate for a girl on the cusp of puberty; the hair tassels she would wear marked her as a witch-in-training. She picked up one of her hairpins and brought it an inch away from her face, the details going from blurred to crisp. At it's tip was the wood carving of a monkey, inspired by the fan spell and symbolic of youthful mischievousness. Considering who else she'd be seeing, Rhajat considered it appropriate.

"Rhajat, are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Let her know that Chief Rinkah has re-entered talks with Chief Flora to end the Ice Tribe's War of Aggression. She will continue to refuse any peace treaty that does not include reparations for Igasato."

"I just don't understand why they don't pony up the money and be done with it," Saizo the Sixth commented as he strolled into the room. "It's their fault this whole thing started."

"You know how the Nohrians are. They would rather deny the obvious than take responsibility for their actions." Hayato rolled his eyes briefly, before narrowing his eyes at Saizo the Sixth. "You're finished packing?"

The boy nodded, and Rhajat went back to studying her hairpin. Saizo the Sixth would also be accompanying her. While Rhajat was mostly going to visit her mother, his was an official meeting before the King and Queen. They would be assessing his skills in both ninjitsu and divination, and if he met their standards he would be moving to Shirasagi to formally begin his training as a retainer.

"The palanquin should be here shortly. Please, both of you," he placed on hand on each of their shoulders, "remember what is proper. King Ryoma is the envoy of the Dawn Dragon and you will revere him as such. The royal children are extensions of that ancient power,  _not_  your peers.  _Never_  raise your voice to a member of the royal court. Be mindful of the King's spies. If you are given an order, no matter how outlandish, nonsensical or degrading, your only choice is to obey."

Rhajat nodded passively, doing her best to mask her apprehension. Hayato had been drilling these admonishments into them since their invitations were delivered, but the harshness of Shirasagi still made her stomach churn. She was not given these warnings the first time they went; could things really change that much in a year? Or had she not noticed the first time?

"And one more thing. Student," he addressed Saizo the Sixth, "before today, the focal point of your life has been your training, rebuilding Igasato, and obeying your father's wishes even when he is far. If you're allowed to become Prince Shiro's retainer, everything will change. Your loyalties will need to shift to the prince alone, and your life decisions will need to be based around him. If he wants to levy Igasato to the ground, do not protest. If he orders your father's execution, be prepared to carry it out personally. Conform to what  _he_  wants you to be. This is now what it means to be a retainer."

Saizo the Sixth's face was the very picture of resignation, but Rhajat knew a storm was brewing inside. For many years her mother had been allowed to live with them in the Wind Tribe, to train a student of her own, to build herself up in the eyes of the tribe as the noble wife of their future chief, all while holding the title of retainer. But then, she'd also been forced to move back to Shirasagi not long ago. It was then Rhajat realized something had indeed  _changed_.

The palanquin came. Holding on to Saizo the Sixth's elbow, she clenched her eyes shut as they crossed the threshold outside, knowing the abrupt change to natural light would blot out her vision. As the pallbearers packed their bags, they said goodbye to Hayato.

"Until we meet again, daughter." The old diviner placed a hand on her cheek. "Do come back to me soon."

She nodded, grateful that her eyes were still closed so she would not see the emotion on her father's face. She knew he was afraid (perhaps rightfully so) that she would never come back.

* * *

 The first time she'd gone to Shirasagi, no fancy palanquin had been sent to pick them up. She and her parents went by foot, and it took two days to get there.

But that was accounting for her father's lack of stamina, and their periodic breaks to rest, eat, and sleep. The pallbearers did not stop, running through what Rhajat imagined to be a great deal of pain. Halfway through their trip when she was sure their bearers were too exhausted to eavesdrop, Rhajat whispered, "you still want to go through with this? It's not too late to back out. We can run away and join a circus trope."

She meant the words to be lighthearted, but Saizo the Sixth huffed in annoyance. "Man, I wish. Either I fuck up and disgrace my family forever, or succeed and… lose myself, I guess."

"Do you think Prince Shiro would expect that of you?"

"I don't know. He seems really laid back, and I've never seen him order a punishment. He's really nice to the servants, and convinced Lady Hinoka to bring in tutors for the slave-children. He didn't have to do that." He paused, and beside her Rhajat felt him lean back in his seat. "He's interested Nohrian, or I guess  _'Chevois'_  tradition and culture, but mostly for his mom's sake. Man, he  _really_  loves his mom. And his cousins. And… all of Hoshido, really."

"I had no idea you thought so highly of him."

The boy shrugged. "Tell you the truth, I don't know what to think of him. My dad thought the world of the king, and he changed. My prince probably will, too, once he gets a taste of actual power."

She heard the crack in his voice, and for the first time since they'd entered the palanquin she picked up her head. Much like the blue-gray piece of silk she hung over the window in her mother's art room, several layers of green silk hung over the sides of the palanquin, casting everything inside in it's tinge. She turned to Saizo the Sixth, and his profile melded with the muted light from the outside; the more Rhajat tried to focus on him, the harder it became to do so. Still, she refused to look away. She wanted to ease his worries but could only muster her usual frank, realistic take. "He's fourth in line to the throne. That's pretty distant."

Saizo the Sixth shook his head. "Not distant enough, if you ask me. And remember, he jumps right up to first when he has a kid."

"And he's already engaged, right?"

"Actually, no."

Rhajat thought this over. Royals were usually locked into engagements on the onset of puberty and married soon after; however, King Ryoma and his siblings had deviated wildly from this model. The Queen was a Nohrian; Lady Hinoka had a child out of wedlock to an unknown father; Lord Takumi took his retainer for a wife; Lady Sakura married a man of another species entirely. Still, since King Ryoma's ascension there'd been a call for a return to traditional values, something the king actively encouraged. To that end, it was strange that Shiro was not yet engaged. "Why not? Does he have a girlfriend?"

Saizo the Sixth turned away from Rhajat, his expression slowly fell from his face. Lavender hair fell into his eyes, and for a moment he looked as guileless as he did before the attack on Igasato. He exhaled slowly. "Nope."

"So… that's good, right? If you're lucky he'll never get married."

He did not respond, and Rhajat thought over what he told her. Prince Shiro wasn't engaged, but didn't have a girlfriend either; could it be he preferred men? Rhajat traced the pattern of her yakuta as best she could, feigning nonchalance. If  _that_  was what was bothering Saizo the Sixth, he was even lowlier than she'd thought.

"Hey, Rhajat?"

"Hm?"

"Are you… okay?"

She slowly turned to face him again, curious to the abrupt change in conversation. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, I just worry about you sometimes." He paused for a moment, fingering his shirukin pensively. Disappointed as she was, Rhajat could only admire how confident he was with such sharp weapons; it seemed she could only make herself bleed whenever she dared touch one. How did he know at what angle to hold it, how to gauge the sharpness of the edge? To her a dagger looked no different than a butter knife, their edges blurring to the same effect. Saizo the Sixth ran his thumb over the curve of his blade. "You ever think about going to see someone about your eyes?"

"No, why would I?"

That made Saizo the Sixth laugh—shortly, abruptly, a far cry from the full-chested laughter that came naturally to him. "You're kidding, right?"

Rhajat suddenly felt warm, but pinned it on the mid-summer weather. "My eyes are sensitive." She turned away from him, staring pointedly in the opposite direction. Her heart shifted to a tittering beat. "It comes from a lifetime of reading books, sometimes in poor lighting. Not that  _you_  would know. I wonder, have you ever gone to see someone about learning how to read?"

Saizo the Sixth roughly grabbed her shoulder, and she reflexively whipped her head around to face him. "Shut up! I  _totally_  know how to read!"

She clenched her teeth, ignoring the sweat gathering beneath her breasts and armpits. "That's not what father tells me."

"Your dad can go fuck a cow!"

"My, how vulgar." She shook her shoulder free from his grasp. "And after everything he's done for you."

"' _Done for me'?_  It was  _never_  about me! Since the day I was born, everything has been about  _Prince Shiro_. Your dad is no different."

She shrugged, turning away from him once more so he would not see her close her eyes. "And there's good reason for that, considering the family you were born into."

"Yeah, yeah. The Saizo Clan." His tone gave Rhajat butterflies. She wished she could harness that animosity, catch it in a jar, use it for a curse. And then he murmured—quietly, so quietly, not meant to reach Rhajat's ears, "whatever. I'll be okay. Just fine."

And Rhajat nodded in agreement, digging her nails into his survival mantra and tearing it down. "You're going to have to be. He is your prince, and your only choice is to obey."

* * *

 

That bright-night they were greeted at Shirasagi's gate not by servants or royal guards, but by the very people they'd been traveling to see: Kagero, Prince Shiro, and Selkie.

Rhajat locked eyes with her mother first, before remembering that this was not the way of the court. Proper deference needed to be shown to the royal family before anything else. So along with Saizo the Sixth, she dropped to her knees and kowtowed to the prince and princess.

Selkie sighed loudly. "C'mon, Rhajat. I know it's been a forever, but I told you," she grabbed Rhajat by the arm and roughly pulled her up, "no princess stuff!"

She expected to be met with anger, bared teeth, but when Rhajat looked at Selkie all she saw was a playful pout. The kitsune bit her lip, and at once her expression transformed into a sweet, toothy smile. "Don't look at me like that! How can I stay mad when you look so cute?"

"I-I—!" Rhajat brought her hands up to her mouth, all sense of decorum gone. She quickly lowered her head, hoping her thick black hair would conceal the blush spreading across her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Miss Kagero, why is your daughter so adorable? Did you raise her to be that way, or did it happen naturally?"

The old ninja chuckled. "Naturally, of course."

She looked up quickly—too quickly. Her mother was a collage of red and black, an amorphous watercolor painting composed by an unsteady hand. She linked rapidly, willing her vision to focus. A sharp pain sparked in the center of her right eye, clustering behind the cornea before shooting to the back of her head like the pinpoint of a needle. She cried out in pain, bringing the ball of her hand up to that eye and squinted the left; only then did a concrete image of her mother begin to take shape.

"Daughter, daughter," Kagero was front of her, smoothing her bangs back. "Are you all right?"

She managed to nod, knowing it would convince no one.

"Azama and Mitama are in the main hall," she heard Prince Shiro suggest. "Maybe they can do something."

Rhajat remembered Mitama, the girl whose fists rained down on her like comets. "No," she whispered. "Really, I'm all right."

"So maybe you should lie down," Selkie whispered, taking her hand. Her skin was as soft as her name suggested. "I'll show you to your room!"

Before she could protest, Selkie was dragging her along through the courtyard. Rhajat could only just make out the giant water fountain, the marble sculptures of past kings, the statue of the Dawn Dragon at the center. The grass added a bounce to her step—just enough to keep up with Selkie, who was nearly skipping. Selkie's hand gradually became clammier, and Rhajat intuitively knew why. "If you want to run around for a bit, that's fine."

Without breaking stride, Selkie tittered lightly. "But I have to get you upstairs, you're not feeling good!"

"Have a servant take me."

"But  _I_  wanna do it!" she whined. "I haven't seen you in a million years! I should be the one to show you your room, I picked it out myself!"

She opened her left eye a bit more. "Did you?"

"Yeah! Mom wanted to put you right next to her room, for some reason." Selkie snorted. "But I talked to daddy, and he talked mom into letting me choose. I can't wait for you to see it!"

Though she wasn't told to do so, Rhajat made a point of picking up her head when they entered Shirasagi proper. She peaked open her right eye—still throbbing—and made the point of greeting Mitama and her father, nodding at the servants, swerving away from the slave-children scrubbing the floors. Selkie took her through a long corridor and up several flights of stairs. They eventually came to a hall lined with several rooms, at the end of which was a balcony. She opened the first door on their left. "Here we are!"

Rhajat stepped inside, and immediately noticed that the room was overcast in a red tinge. Feeling more at ease, she opened her eyes a bit wider. Selkie whizzed past her, practically bouncing over to the windows.

"Okay, okay—miss Kagero told me your eyes are sensitive, so I put up these red curtains to block out the light." She pointed to the small marble table that faced one of them. "I figured you could use this as an alter if you want? But let me know if you want something bigger. And there's your bed, the dresser… oh!" Pulling Rhajat along library. "Lots of grimoires here! Most of them are on combative magic, that's okay right? I know you're mostly into divination…"

"N-no, that's…" Rhajat swallowed thickly. " _More_  than fine. Selkie—"

"Wait, no, I'm not done! Look at this!" They sprinted back over to the dresser, and up close Rhajat could see the hairpins and the hair combs and the brushes and powders that sat on top. "I don't know if you're into any of this stuff, but I had them put here just in case."

Cautiously, she picked up one of the hairpins. It appeared to be made of gold, smooth and cool to the touch. At the top was a carving of a bird in flight; from it hung tassels threaded with small pearl beads. "This is beautiful."

"Yeah, I guess. Auntie Oboro picked it out for me to wear for summer solstice last year."

Rhajat nearly dropped the pin on the floor. "I can't wear this if it's  _yours_ —"

"Stop that! I never wear any of this junk. It gets in the way of playtime."

"But your family—"

"What about them? They give stuff to people they like all the time! Just yesterday, Shiro gave Hisame one of his nicest scabbards, the one with the mountains carved into it! And Caeldori once gave Mitama this big book of poems from like a thousand years ago. Even Auntie Scarlet gave your mom that fancy new scarf of hers, said it came all the way from Chives!"

"Cheve."

"Whatever! Point is, you're not going to get in trouble. And I'm not missing anything, see?" Selkie spun around, her unadorned hair forming a blurry halo. Rhajat quickly averted her eyes back to the hairpin.

"Are you feeling better, Rhajat?"

She turned and saw her mother standing in the doorway, two blurry figures standing behind her. Selkie ran up to her. "Miss Kagero! I think Rhajat likes her room." She tilted her head slightly, to address the figures behind Kagero. "Just put her bags on the floor."

They did so, without any thanks or goodbye. Kagero approached Rhajat and put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "You've gotten taller. About your father's height now, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"How is he? How are you?"

"He's, ah…" Rhajat didn't know how to proceed. As much as she adored Selkie, how could she speak freely when…?

"… you know what?" Selkie slowly began. They both turned to face her. "I  _totally_  forgot! Daddy wanted me to help him down in the library. He's translating some of the books down there, so kitsune back in the tribe can read them." She turned, and winked at them from over her shoulder. "I'll be back later!"

They watched her leave the room, and Rhajat thanked her rainbow rings that, for once, Selkie had shown  _some_  social tact. Once they could no longer hear the princesses' footsteps, Kagero quietly shut the door behind her. "Okay. Tell me everything."

"Father misses you. He wants to know why this invitation didn't include him."

Kagero nodded solemnly. "The official reason is that the royal court is in the midst of preparing for the summer solstice, and is in no condition to host the Wind Tribe's main envoy." She lowered her voice as she went on. "The  _actual_  reason is that King Ryoma does not want your father in or around his domain."

"Why?"

"That, I cannot say."

Rhajat tried to think of what Hayato would ask, if he were there. "What makes you think this?"

Kagero sighed. "The King becomes angry whenever your father comes up, to the point that I no longer feel safe mentioning him at all. He said he dreads the day Chief Fuga passes on and he has to  _'entertain'_  your father directly. He has our letters censored to the point I suspect he's trying to create a rift between us. And he's destroyed every single charm your father has sent me, claiming he doesn't want our folk magic  _'muddying the aura of the palace.'_ "

Rhajat was taken aback. This went beyond the harsh actions of an paranoid king; this animosity was  _personal._ "But why…?"

"Again, I cannot say. But Rhajat," Kagero slowly shifted her gaze to stare at her directly, "while I intend for you to tell your father all of this, do remind him of his place in relation to the king's. He cannot confront him about this. He  _will_  lose."

Kagero left unsaid what Hayato's 'loss' would entail, but Rhajat could make an educated guess.

Her mother decided to switch gears. "Do you know how Saizo is doing?"

"Same as ever. The Flame Tribe continues to help in Igasato, but they can only come occasionally to repair things."

Kagero nodded. "Naturally. Igasato will need funding in order to truly rebuild."

"Chief Rinkah and Chief Flora have re-entered talks to end the war, and Chief Rinkah has promised to refuse any offer that doesn't include reparations."

Of all things, her mother rolled her eyes. "In that case, the war will never end."

"So you don't care if Igasato isn't made whole?"

It came out more tartly than she intended, but Kagero made no comment on her tone. "I'm simply stating a fact. Chief Flora will continue to insist that the Ice Tribe was not behind Igasato's decimation, and that the Flame Tribe attacked them without warrant. That woman is a glacier—as long as she's in charge, this is how things will be."

 _As long as she's in charge._  "… but her son may be more reasonable."

Kagero put a finger to her lips. "You didn't hear that from me."

Her son, next in line to the Ice Tribe's chief chair—a year older than her and the same age as Saizo the Sixth. She'd seen him once at a distance during a meeting between Grandfather Fuga and Chief Flora. He was a dowdy looking boy with bags under his eyes and a strange, hobbling gait. Not much was known about him, other than vague rumors of shiftlessness. Everything about him suggested impotence; surely, he would be easier to bend than his hard-hearted mother.

"Speaking of children, tell me about Saizo the Sixth."

"You already know the gist of it: he's refined his skill in oneiromancy. He's now able to focus his energy on divining on specific topics. And it's rare, but he's sometimes able to watch events in real time."

Kagero crossed her arms and leaned back against the door. "Very good. If the king and queen deem him worthy, there are diviners here who can help him further that. Though," she chuckled shortly, "none as skilled as your father."

"Father says the diviners here are more skilled."

"That's not true. Those so-called experts weren't able to sense the soothing spell you put on me, and you're still an infant in your craft!"

Rhajat felt another blush come on. "Ah, I see. You knew."

The old ninja walked over to her daughter, placing a hand on her cheek. "Did you think I couldn't feel your presence?"

Rhajat resisted the urge to lean into her touch. She left unsaid how much she'd missed her over the past year, but knowing her mother she already knew.

"And it was a good spell, too," she continued. "Potent. Have you chosen your specialization yet?"

Rhajat chewed thoughtfully on a nail, debating whether or not she should say. "I, um…" she turned her head away. "I think I have a special talent for conjuring."

"How wonderful! What makes you say that?"

Rhajat shrugged. "Just a feeling." (She left unsaid the Great Experiment she'd conducted in the middle of the forest while her father was engaged with Saizo the Sixth—the one with the summoning circle, the animals blood, calling forth the invisible moon, and the  _giant chained beast—_ )

"You should let your father know if you haven't already. His mother was a conjurer. He'll be  _so_  happy to know the talent has been passed down."

"Okay, sure."

(She hadn't told Hayato. If Kagero's paintings were enough to make him cry, she was sure he'd drop dead at the sight of a Faceless. Although she'd brought forth a limp, dead thing, it was something she learned entirely on her own; in that case, did he ever need to know?)

"Well, I should get going. You need your rest."

"I'm feeling better, actually."

Kagero stared at Rhajat, expression betraying no hint of what she was thinking. (She never could read her mother's cues.) "How have your eyes been?"

Rhajat crossed her arms over her midsection, eyebrows knitting together. "Same as always," she lied. "Just a little sensitive."

Her mother frowned. "I disagree. Your eyesight has always been weak, but it's never before caused you to cry out in pain."

"I was stuck in that palanquin all day. It took my eyes some time to adjust."

"And you realize that's a problem in itself, right? I'm quite a bit older than you, and my eyes need no 'time to adjust' when I go from room to room. I can't say I know anyone else who does."

"Well, you always did say I was special."

"I'm serious. Let me take you to a specialist tomorrow. We can go to an apothecary after that. I can ask Azama, or perhaps even Lady Sakura, to see if this is something they can heal." She placed a hand on Rhajat's shoulder. "This is a problem. Ignoring it won't make it go away."

Rhajat turned away from Kagero, shaking her hand away in the process. "On second thought, I think I am tired."

"I know you must be scared—"

"Mother, please." She settled into bed. "I've had a very long day."

"... very well." Kagero turned to leave. "But this conversation isn't over."

Rhajat didn't answer. She curled up on her side with her back facing the door, and didn't move even after she heard it close.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like this bitch is gonna be a three parter. If I uploaded the entire piece it would have been around 10,000 words. 
> 
> I really don't see this happening with any of the other chapters I originally planned, year 12 just happens to be a pivotal one for Rhajat, hopefully for reasons that'll be clear once this three-parter is done. 
> 
> That's all, let's get to the chapter.

**VI**

_age 12 (part 2)_

The next morning, Kagero came into her room to wake her up. Rhajat curled away from her, but the old ninja still grabbed her shoulder and shook her with more force than usual.

“Wake up. Lord Kaden wishes to speak with you, and you best not keep him waiting.”

Rhajat struggled to place who ‘Lord Kaden’ was, mind fogged by semi-consciousness. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. I assume it has something to do with his daughter.”

Her eyes flew open, prickled by sunlight. Selkie’s father! She sat up as quickly as she could, mentally reviewing her haphazard reunion with Selkie the day before. She went along with everything Selkie wanted to do, and hadn’t challenged her in any meaningful way. Even taking her leave was something Selkie elected to do on her own. So what could Lord Kaden possibly want to _talk_ to her about?

She shifted over to the edge of her bed, riffling through her bag to try and find a yakuta appropriate enough to wear in front of a lord. She couldn’t make out any details, but she wasn’t alarmed; her eyes always took about an hour to focus after waking up. Besides, she could choose her attire based on color, the one crude detail she could still make out. So she chose a blue piece etched with white flowers (lilies, if she recalled correctly). As Kagero helped dress her, she advised Rhajat on how to deal with Selkie’s father.

“Lord Kaden is an in-law, so he isn’t as sensitive to slights as those born into the royal family. However, his upbringing as the Kitsune Chief’s only son has left him with a certain standard for how he wants to be treated.”

Rhajat held out her arms as Kagero tied her obi. “And how’s that?”

“Well,” she began quietly, “he prides his beauty above all else. It would be wise to humor his vanity, or at least not insult it.” Her voice resumed its normal tone, “But he’s also very personable, and if you do anything for him he’ll be sure to return the favor tenfold. I should know.” She lowered her head so that her lips were an inch away from Rhajat’s ear. “It’s thanks to him you were invited here.”

Rhajat tried to turn around, but Kagero held her in place. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“I’ll explain later.” She finished tying her obi. “Right now, you have a meeting to get to.”

* * *

 She hoped against it, but as expected Kagero was not allowed to accompany her. She was presented to Lord Kaden by two armed guards, who stood stationed on either side of the doorway as she kowtowed and shuffled over to him.

It was one thing to know _of_ him, but seeing him in person solidified his existence to Rhajat. Before her stood a vessel of the gods, the father of her only friend, and the one who apparently made her trip to Shirasagi a reality. When she laid her forehead on his feet it was not a show of empty formality, but of genuine reverence. His shoes were soft. He smelled like berries. She hoped he wasn’t too angry with her.

She expected him to address her first, but what he actually _said_ caught her off guard. She’d had her head on his feet for no longer than three seconds before he wiggled his foot and said, “okay, that’s enough! You can stop now!”

She lifted her forehead off the ground, leaning back into a seated position before rising to her feet. He wasn’t much taller than she was. His fur had a warm auburn glow, glinting in the sunlight shining through the window. He stood looking at her for a moment, before gesturing to the table just behind him. “Come on, the tea should be getting here soon.”

They both sat, and a few moments later the teakettle and cups were placed before them. The servant left immediately after, and it took Rhajat a moment to remember _she_ was expected to pour their tea. She cursed herself when a bit splashed out of Lord Kaden’s cup and thanking the gods when he made no mention of it. He put the cup to his lips and took a sip. “I hated this stuff when I first came to live here,” he sighed. “But now it’s my favorite thing about this place!”

He slapped his knee and chortled. Rhajat gave what she hoped was a sincere smile, still too rattled to engage in Lord Kaden’s banter. She wanted to grab him and demand that he tell her why he called her in, but with those guards blocking the door she couldn’t do something like that and expect to live. So she took a deep breath and allowed the steam lifting from her teacup warm her. She was in his world, and would have to do things at his pace.

The kitsune tilted his head, a playful glint still dancing in his eyes. “Selkie was right, you _are_ stiff as a board! I’ll cut to the chase then.” He set his teacup down and leaned in close. “My uncle died last night.”

The abrupt change of course startled Rhajat. For a moment she forgot her place, accidentally making eye contact with Lord Kaden before quickly averting her gaze again. “My condolences. May he rest in peace with the gods.”

“Eh, I don’t know about that. The guy was a real piece of work. Wouldn’t surprise me if he were stewing in one of the hells right now!” Lord Kaden stroked the end of his tail, a carefree smirk worming across his face.

“Then may he languish there for all time.”

Lord Kaden’s hand paused mid-stroke, before he erupted in a full throated laughter than echoed on and on through the spacious room they sat in. “That’s funny! You should say stuff like that more often.”

“I’ll do my best, milord.” Rhajat was confused. Lord Kaden didn’t seem angry with her or anything else—and though she was glad her risky comment was well received, she failed to see how his uncle’s death had anything to do with her.

“Yeah, well” Lord Kaden let his tail slip away from his fingers, “I’m glad the old pervert is gone. But his funeral is tomorrow, and we kitsune always gather to bury our own.”

She nodded. “A noble practice.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t see the point in honoring the life of some baby-raper, it’d be more fitting to just throw him in the trash.” He rolled his eyes. “But my clan leads the hamlet, so we have to set the example. My daughter and I aren’t exceptions to that.”

“So… Selkie’s going too?”

“She has to. I don’t mean to brag,” he smirked, “but my daughter’s a big deal back home. She’s what links our tribe to the royal family.”

“I see.” She nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Seeing mother is enough. Seeing mother is enough. Seeing mother—_

“We have to leave by tonight to make it there by morning.” Lord Kaden took another sip of his tea. “So I expect you to be ready to leave by the 18th hour.”

Rhajat’s half-lidded eyes flew open so suddenly, she immediately felt the beginnings of a headache. “Wait—what? _Me?”_  

“Yeah, you’re coming along. Why else would I even tell you about this?” He tapped the side of his head. “C’mon kid, think a little!”

“But, I’m… “Rhajat rubbed her collarbone. “This is… so sudden…”

“Death tends to be sudden. But I know you came here to see Selkie… and,” he waved his hand in a dismissive manner “I guess Kagero too, but there’ll be time for that later.”

Rhajat stared at her hands in her lap. It was an honor to be invited anywhere by a member of the royal family, but to the illusive Kitsune Hamlet? And specifically so she could spend time with Selkie? It was an honor far past anything she could have expected or deserved. But she hadn’t seen Kagero in over a year, and the weight of their separation still crushed down on her. “Lord Kaden,” she bowed her head, “may I ask you something?”

“Sure, go for it!”

“Is this…” she bit her lip, “a request, or an order?”     Lord Kaden didn’t answer immediately. Eyes clenched shut and hands twisting into her garment, she came an inch within blurting out her apology before he beat her to it. “I’m sorry, kid. Of course you have a choice. A favor that’s forced isn’t a favor at all.” He suddenly rose from his seat and gestured towards the door. “Don’t worry about it. You can leave now.”

* * *

 “You’re going.”

“Wait, mother—“ 

Kagero dumped the rest of Rhajat’s miscellaneous belongings into a small travel bag. She then reached into her larger one, pulling out a plain travel tunic and shoved it into Rhajat’s chest. “You should wear this. The road to the Kitsune Hamlet is dangerous, it isn’t the place for flagrant displays of status.”

“But I’m still not sure—“

Kagero exhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. “I know you don’t know the ways of the court yet, but listen to me. Lord Kaden said you had a choice, but _that isn’t true._ He may not punish you directly if you deny his invitation, but kitsune can be subtler than they let on.” She lowered her voice, but still spoke with the same speed and passion that made her admonition sound more like a reprimand. “This is the man who made your stay here possible. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, because it may not feed you again.”

She plucked a few wooden hairpins from the pile in Rhajat’s bag and tossed them at her, two blurry brown lines ricocheting towards her so quickly that she didn’t catch them in time. They bounced off her chest and onto the ground, immediately blending in with the wooden floors. Rhajat got down on her haunches, squinting as she felt around for her pins. Above her, Kagero stopped rifling through her bags. She watched her daughter in silence.

“Do you need help?” she asked softly.

“It’s fine, I almost have it.”

(No, she didn’t. They’d fallen more than an arms length away, but were visible in what should have been Rhajat’s field of vision. That she didn’t spot them while standing was understandable; but after crouching down and searching for several minutes? Kagero couldn’t bear to watch her anymore.) “They’re next to me. Your upper left.”        

Rhajat huffed, but followed Kagero’s instructions. Looking at them closely, she recognized them as her monkey pins.

Kagero slowly picked up where she left off. “Daughter, the best advice I can give you is to please Lord Kaden however you can. He can open doors for you that would be closed otherwise.”

Rhajat rose to her feet. She put on the travel tunic and handed the pins to her mother. “Why do you want me to do this?”

She wove them into Rhajat’s hair. “Because this trip is an opportunity. If you make the right alliances, can control your fate. And then no one can take you from the people you love.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Kagero placed her hands on either side of Rhajat’s head, running her thumbs over her eyebrows. “Now go on—charm the kitsune into loving you.”

* * *

 It was typically the 18th hour when things transitioned from day to bright-night and people changed their behaviors accordingly. As was in the Wind Tribe, so was in Shirasagi.

As Kagero escorted Rhajat through the winding halls of the palace, she caught scent of evening meals being made. When she turned to face the windows they passed, she could see the murky outlines of what had to be royal guard soldiers in the midst of winding-down exercises. In the distance, she could hear Prince Kiragi shouting, his sweet wide smile evident in his tone; she figured he and the other royal children had finished their studies for the day. By the time they made it to the main hall the gong that marked the beginning of the hour had already started to ring, and she saw Azama and Mitama heading out to the temples for their evening meditation, as monks and shine maidens always did.

They made it to the front gate, where there were several palanquins waiting to take Lord Kaden, Selkie, herself, and several senior royal guard members to the kitsune hamlet.  Unlike the palanquin she and Saizo the Sixth arrived in, the exterior of the ones before her were all a dull, muted grey; only the one in the center had it’s edges trimmed in dark blue, and she imagined that would be the one Lord Kaden and his daughter would travel in. She had no right to request it, but Rhajat hoped that she wouldn’t be forced to share a palanquin with some stuffy soldier. She had enough trouble trying to make small talk with Grandfather Fuga, let alone an older man she _didn’t_ know.

Behind her, Rhajat felt Kagero place her hand on the back of her head. The old ninja ran her boney fingers through her daughter’s mass of thick, dark hair, nails lightly grazing her scalp. “When you return,” she whispered, “Lady Sakura has agreed to examine your eyes.”

Rhajat’s stomach dropped, and a sick, stagnant heat rose from her chest to her head. Every thought she had wilted to silence.

“Hey hey!”

She turned, freeing her hair from her mother’s light grasp. Selkie was sprinting up to her, followed by her father, who walked at a sauntering pace. Suddenly her mother and her eyesight and her dread seemed far away, eclipsed by the sight of Selkie’s glossy coat gleaming in the perpetual sunlight. Saizo the Sixth once told her the tribe his uncle married into worshiped the sun as a god—but to her, _Selkie_ was the sun. That over-glorified star could fall out of the sky tomorrow, so long as she could still bask in the warmth that radiated from her little princess. “Selkie, hi.”

She made it to Rhajat, and glanced down at the bags by her feet. “What are those?”

“My things.”

Selkie’s smile crumpled. “Wait, you’re leaving already? But daddy said you’d be here for a whole week!”

“I’m… not leaving. Your father invited me, unless he changed his mind.”

“And why would I do that?” Lord Kaden teased, having made it up to the two of them. “The only tears I want to see out of Selkie are the fake ones she’s going to shed for her great uncle. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah! But,” she bowed her head a bit, peering up at Rhajat with wide eyes. “You’re coming? You really, really are?”

Rhajat nodded, and Selkie abruptly grabbed her hands and began jumping up and down. “That’s great! Hey daddy,” she looked over her shoulder, “me and Rhajat can ride in the same palaquin, right?”

The older kitsune shrugged, moving past the two girls. “That’s the plan.”

He entered the main palanquin tapered in blue. Selkie’s eyes jumped from palanquin to palanquin, trying to pinpoint which one was theirs. Suddenly, her ears perked up. “Ah! There it is!”

She dragged Rhajat over to one just behind the one her father entered. “Wait, how do you know—?”

“It’s obvious! Look.” She ran her fingers against the gray silk covering the entrance, and Rhajat finally saw that the sweeping curl and frill that detonated the edges of the cloth with a touch of femininity that was absent from the rest. Rhajat stared at the design, wondering how she managed to miss something so misleadingly garish.

“Goodbye, daughter. I’ll see you soon.”

Rhajat turned to her mother, who stood alone against Shirasagi’s magnificent backdrop. Her lovely, looming moon. “Goodbye mother.”

* * *

 “Tell me about the Wind Tribe. What’s that place like?”

“Oh, that? That’s a… boring subject…"

“Nu uh! I’ve been reading up on the Wind Tribe, and you guys are _super_ interesting. But there are some things I don’t get, like why aren’t you allowed to paint your houses in bright colors? Why don’t you worship the wind? And the sun always shines on your land, which means you’re part of Hoshido. So why have you always been neutral between us and Nohr?”

Rhajat was taken aback, surprised that Selkie would express interest in something other than playtime. She was honored her little princess had taken the time to learn about her world. “We paint our houses colors like white and beige and yellow and gray because just like the wind is unadorned, we believe our living spaces should be as well.”

“So you _do_ worship the wind.”

“There’s a difference between worshiping and what we do. We honor the wind as a divine expression of the universe.”

Selkie nodded, though Rhajat was sure what she said made no sense to her.  “So who do _you_ worship?”

“Grandfather Fuga doesn’t impose any deities on us. I personally like to keep my options open, so I make small offerings to many gods as well as my ancestors. But there are others in the tribe who only focus on a handful, or even just one. Just like the wind, we’re free to choose. And,” Rhajat turned to Selkie, and hoped she wouldn’t regret what she said next, “that’s also why we’ve always been neutral between Hoshido and Nohr. The wind favors no direction, so we don’t either.”

Selkie nodded slowly, eyebrows knitted together. “That makes sense…”

“Yes. Though I must say,” she smiled coyly, “I don’t think I’d get on with the Nohrian princess the same way I do with you.”

Selkie’s ears stood on end. “No way!” She grabbed Rhajat into a tight hug. “You’re _my_ friend!”

“Sure thing.” She rubbed Selkie’s arm. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Um,” Selkie chewed on her thumb thoughtfully. “Well… you’re gonna be chief someday, right?”

Rhajat snorted, rolling her eyes. “Unless my parents have another child.”

“No, I’m serious. After Chief Fuga and your daddy is you, right? Are you prepared for that?”

“Mother could become chief before I do. Everyone back home likes her enough to accept that, I think.”

“Do you ever think about one day being chief? The aspiring witch felt her cheeks burn. “I have,” she lied. “But I choose not to dwell on it since it’s such a long way off.”

(Yes, it was a long way off. A long, long, _long_ way off. As far as she was concerned her parent would live forever, so why tempt fate by planning for their deaths?)

“You don’t know that.”

Rhajat frowned. “Then tell me, have _you_ thought about becoming Queen of Hoshido?”

Selkie freed herself from Rhajat’s arms. “That’s not the same thing!” she whined.

“You can’t say that for sure. Terrible things happen everyday.”

Selkie’s shoulders slumped. “Whatever. You’re still closer to becoming chief than I am queen.”

The girls sat in silence for a moment, looking away from each other. Rhajat only distantly acknowledged that she crossed a line, probably several. _The royal children are extensions of that ancient power,_ not _your peers._ A sick nervousness washed over her. She had just alluded to the death of not only King Ryoma, but _every_ royal save Selkie herself. Had she just said something she couldn’t take back?

Beside her, Selkie sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Rhajat shook her head. “No, it’s my fault. I was out of line.” Selkie opened her mouth to counter this, but Rhajat held up her hand. “Every sort of relationship needs respect. For your sake, I hope your entire family lives forever.”

“Oh, that’s silly.” Selkie grinned toothily. “Everybody dies.”

“You’re right,” she replied as smoothly as she could. Who knew her little princess could be so blunt? “Still, talking about it invites malicious spirits into our midst.”

“You think so?”

“I _know_ so. Those sorts of entities feed off negativity in all its forms.”

Selkie nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, we won’t. I just…” she sighed. “I wanted to be sure being chief isn’t the only goal in your life, that you want to be other things.”

“I’m a witch before anything else.”

“I know, but is that all you think you’ll be? A witch and a chief? Nothing else _at all?”_

There was a pleading edge in Selkie’s voice that Rhajat didn’t quite understand. “I’m open to other paths if they present themselves.”

“So you are.” Selkie hummed thoughtfully. She then laid her head on Rhajat’s shoulder. “That makes me  _so_ happy. You should always want to be more...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no foreshadowing in this chapter. Nope. None at all *whistles*
> 
> Anyway, comments are much beloved and appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, and year 12 isn't quite over yet. There's a lot to cover, and I generally don't like posting chapters more than 4,000 words or so. So here you go *slowly slides chapter 7 your way* 
> 
> Hope you like fabric names, spooning and violence. I'm keeping the expected chapter count for this story at 11 for now, but that may change once chapter 8 comes out. 
> 
> And that's all. Comments are always much beloved and appreciated :)

**VII**

_Age 12 (part 3)_

 

They arrived at the Kitsune Hamlet the next day. The girls had fallen asleep halfway through, and when they emerged from the palanquin Rhajat was struck by the hues of gold and orange eclipsing the sky. She couldn’t make out their shapes but knew, factually, that they were leaves. The surrounding area was known for its mild climate, but the hamlet in particular was forever caught in autumn—dying but never dead, unable to commit to life or the hereafter. Rhajat supposed it made sense. If it weren’t for the final wish of their blessed ancestor, their species would have been killed off eons ago.

Lord Kaden addressed the royal guards. “You can set up station around the hamlet, but remember not to step foot on our land!” He cackled shortly. “You don’t wanna know what’ll happen if you do!”

Rhajat leaned in close to Selkie. “What _will_ happen?”

“Daddy’s friends’ll rip their heads off.”

Selkie’s capacity for bluntness surprised her yet again, but it was well known that humans weren’t normally allowed on kitsune grounds. Rhajat wasn’t worried for herself because Lord Kaden invited her personally; the soldiers being barred could only mean he didn’t want them around.

The three of them ascended up the mountain, treading a rarely-traversed path. Rhajat held on to Selkie’s elbow to maintain her balance and Lord Kaden led the way, chattering all the while.

“Things are different here than they are in Shirasagi. There aren’t guards hanging around every nook and cranny, people leave their doors unlocked, playtime isn’t looked down upon—”

Selkie squealed, and if they weren’t already walking Rhajat was sure she would’ve danced in place. “Ah, I’m so excited!”

“That’s right! Playtime and immaculate grooming are two pillars of kitsune civilization! And so’s hospitality. Rhajat,” he addressed her, “you don’t need to kowtow to my father or anyone else. Just be nice, okay? Some folks back home have never even seen a human, so give ‘em a good first impression!”

Rhajat didn’t much like the idea of being humanity’s ambassador to the kitsune; she was sure she’d give a bad impression for her already detestable race. History considered, it amazed her that kitsune were open to humans at all.

“We’re here!” Lord Kaden announced. Rhajat freed herself from her thoughts and took a look around. They made it to a cul-de-sac that shone gold in the morning sun, the autumnal backdrop contrasting beautifully against their polished wooden houses. Flowers adorned each doorway; mushrooms were strategically grown to create pathways from each home the center of the clearing. She could make out a slash of blue against the backdrop of the mountain; she couldn’t say for sure, but she guessed it to be a pond. Farm animals aimlessly roamed the streets. There wasn’t a kitsune in sight.

Lord Kaden loudly sucked his teeth. “C’mon guys, I know there’s a human here, but she’s _fine._ Quite being a bunch of babies!

Rhajat squinted hard. She couldn’t bear to miss this. Few humans had ever laid eyes on the kitsune, even fewer still on their hamlet; she was sure she’d be the first ever to watch them go from intangible to corporal. Their ability was an expression of the divine on earth.

One of them peaked out from behind the veil. “But Kaden,” the kitsune child whimpered, eyes misted over. “She looks mean…”

“What? Mean?” Kaden pressed his hand to his chest incredulously. “You really think I would bring a _mean_ human to our hamlet? Rhajat is the nicest human ever, look!” He went and stood behind Rhajat and placed his fingers on the corners of her mouth, tugging them up. “See that? Doesn’t she have the prettiest smile?”

Rhajat would’ve bit him if it weren’t for his title and the endeared titter of laughter that sprinkled around the hamlet. One by one they emerged from the chrysalis of invisibility, a sight that was breathtaking even without the ability to see every detail. Many of the children bounced up to Lord Kaden, clamoring at his feet like guppies to a meal as he walked to the center of the clearing. Others went over to Selkie, and they chased each other’s tails around, losing all sense of decorum during playtime.

No one came to greet Rhajat directly, which she figured was just as well. It was hard for her to keep track of where Selkie and her father were. It seemed that the kitsune favored bright clothing, and they all melded together in a mess of colorful splotches. She remembered the layout of the cul-de-sac, and decided that walking in a straight line to the town center would lower her chances of getting lost—but she took all of two steps before she heard a voice address from the side. “You do have a pretty smile, girl. But don’t _ever_ let a man put his hands on your face like that again.”

He turned and saw three silver-haired kitsune woman approach her. They were dressed in dark, somber hues—the colors of widows. “He just caught me off guard.”

“You should have bit his finger!” the second one spat. “Shown that boy some respect!”

“Or better yet,” the third interjected, “just curse to that soft-dumpling princess of his. Have her bite him for you!”

The three crones erupted into rancorous laughter; Rhajat simply stared. _Curse?_ There were witches in the Kitsune Hamlet?

* * *

They invited her back their cottage, and Rhajat immediately noticed that theirs was different from the rest. Vines twisted around and between every plank of wood. Instead of the bright live flowers pinned upright to each doorway, their flowers were dead and hung upside down. There were bundles of herbs hanging dried from the ceiling, and their windowsill was lined with several jars filled with colorful powders. The inside was dark save for a few sporadically lit candles, but Rhajat could make out what appeared to be an elaborate alter at the far end of the meeting room. A black crystal ball stood placed in the center of the table where the three women sat.

Their names were Tricotta, Bisso, and Lacie. They were married to the former Kitsune Chief—Lord Kaden’s grandfather—after their father’s attempt at a coup ended in his execution.

“That bastard killed off our entire line. Wanted to kill us, too.” Tricotta droned like she was talking about the weather.

“But that’s what love spells are for!” Lacie tittered behind her sleeve.

They told her smatterings of kitsune history, much of which was more violent than Rhajat has assumed. The internal strife only ended after Lord Kaden married Lady Sakura and the hamlet came under Shirasagi’s protection. Aid from the capital drastically improved their standard of living, lessening the incentive for insurrection.

“I miss the way things were, though,” Lacie sighed dreamily. “At least people were honest.”

“Living this way is better for the children,” Bisso countered.

“But at what cost? Have you _seen_ the youth of today, running about without a lick of sense? Not this one, though,” Tricotta pointed her withered finger at Rhajat, who stood silently by the table. “I _like_ her. She knows how to be still. Tell me, where are you from?”

“The Wind Tribe.”

“From the tribes! Now there’s accounting for your manners. I’m sure Fuga’s taken the chief’s chair by now, hasn’t he?”

Rhajat felt a small uptick of pride when she told them, “Grandfather Fuga is our chief, yes.”

The three crones paused, before pouncing on her in their excitement.

“You’re Fuga’s grandbaby?!” Lacie shouted.

“Goodness, I never knew Fuga had children,” Bisso commented, a tinge of longing in her voice.

Tricotta smirked. “So, who’s the lucky woman?”          

“He… he’s never been married,” Rhajat clarified as she struggled to keep her vision from falling out of focus. “He fell in love with a woman from our tribe, but she married someone else. Then she and her husband were killed, but grandfather still loved her so much that he adopted their son—my father.”

Bisso looked ready to melt. “What a romantic…”

“Did you expect any less from a man as magnificent as him?” Tricotta turned to Rhajat. “I’m sorry, girl. You have to understand, we’ve always had a soft spot for Chief Fuga. And you—you’re his granddaughter! I tell you girls, the gods don’t make mistakes. We were meant to meet this child.” She waved Rhajat over. “Let me look at you in the light.”

Rhajat bent down and Tricotta took her face in her hands, rubbing her calloused thumbs over her cheeks. The crone exhaled slowly. “… I see pearls.”

“Excuse me?”

“I see milky white pearls in a thick forested area, far from home. Everything is still. The energy is stagnant, and yet, something is evolving. Something is… _blooming_.” She took her hands off her face and leaned back in her chair. “And then a storm comes barreling in and whisks the pearls away.”

There were two ways of interpreting visions—literally and symbolically. She doubted it was the former, but what relevance did pearls have in her life, even figuratively?  
  
Tricotta was staring hard at the table. “Your great-granddaughter really likes this one.”

“Selkie likes everyone” Bisso hummed. “She’s a very personable child.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Her eyes flickered up again to meet Rhajat’s. “She _really_ likes her. She’s going to play a special role in Selkie’s life. She’ll do for her what no one else can.”

Before Rhajat could react to what the old witch was telling her, there was a knock at the door, and without looking to see who it was Bisso stood up from her seat. “Come in, Kaden.”

The door swung open and in came the kitsune lord and his daughter. Selkie honed in on Rhajat first. “There you are! We thought you got lost.”

“I can see where I’m going,” she said a bit too quickly. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Your family invited me here. I didn’t want interrupt your playtime.”

Selkie waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, interrupt all you want! I think you would get along with them, they don’t like Catch the Kitsune either.”

Lacie roughly yanked Selkie’s tail; the princess yelped. “What did I tell you about that stupid, ugly game?!”

Meanwhile, Kaden was hugging Bisso close. “Aw, granny! I missed you!”

"I missed you, too. I wish it didn’t take the death of a family member to bring you home for a visit.”

“Right, but you know how court life is.” He turned to Tricotta and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss, auntie. This is a blow to our entire tribe, but to you most of all. No parent should outlive their child.”

Rhajat was impressed, he almost sounded sincere. But Tricotta wasn’t moved. She coolly slid her hand out of his grasp and turned up her nose away from him. “Thank you, but I don’t need your sympathy. I knew I gave birth to a mortal.”

His sympathetic expression fell from his face at once. “Then you don’t mind my festive mood?”

“I’m not here to tell you how to feel.”

Lord Kaden stood upright, and Rhajat could feel the animosity emanating from him in waves. “… girls, it’s getting late. I should show you to your quarters.”

“Right!” Selkie turned to Bisso. “It was nice seeing you again, great-granny! And you too, great-aunties!” She quickly waved goodbye and then bounded out of the cottage ahead of the rest of them. Lord Kaden told the three women he’d see them tomorrow at the funeral and walked out after his daughter, leaving Rhajat alone with the crones once again. Lord Kaden told her she didn’t have to kowtow to anyone, and she doubted they would think well of that besides; but she still bowed out of respect. “It was nice meeting you all.”

Without looking up Tricotta pointed at Rhajat. “Don’t forget what I told you.”

“And come back to visit us before you leave,” Bisso added. “There are some things I want to show you.”

Lacie smiled brightly. “Yes, yes, come back! I’ll hex you into next week if you don’t!”

* * *

 

Rhajat didn’t know what she was expecting when Lord Kaden showed them their room, but the lack of beds certainly surprised her.

“Yeah, that’s how it is here,” Selkie explained after her father left. “Kitsune usually sleep in our beast form. I can’t back home because I get too big and my room is too messy, but it’s a lot more comfortable just being myself.”

Both girls were down on their haunches riffling through their bags. More than once Rhajat glanced over to see what Selkie had packed; her day clothes were bright and intricately patterned as usual, and she seemed to have picked warm hues that blended in with the tribe’s autumnal backdrop. In comparison she felt out of place, her clothes favoring colors like blue and pink and purple. “What should I wear for tomorrow?”  
  
Selkie crawled over to her and started going through her things. Rhajat had nothing to hide, but she still didn’t appreciate the gesture. “Wait—”|  
  
She yanked out an outfit. “Here, this is perfect!”

“This…?” What Selkie handed her was a pair of hip-hugging trousers and a sheer black top that covered her breasts and not much else. She’d only packed such an outfit in case the heat became too much. “Are you sure this is… appropriate?”

“Yup! Our tradition is that we wear what we think the dead person would’ve liked to see us in. My great-uncle liked dressing his grandchildren up like that, so it should be fine.”

The hairs on her arms stood on end, and Rhajat shoved the outfit back down to the bottom of her bag. “How about… this?” She pulled out a tunic-trouser set, mostly because it was the only one whose design she remembered well. The overall color was teal, which meant that the pink and white splotches had to be peonies. Simple, youthful, and utterly formless.

“Uh, sure! It’s real pretty, and it’s not like you knew him anyway.”

Rhajat put the outfit aside, and as Selkie continued to go through her own bag it occurred to her that she ought to be concerned about what her friend planned on wearing. “And you? What’s your outfit?”

A small blush spread across her face. “I-it’s a little embarrassing… daddy picked my outfit for me.” She laughed nervously. “I swear he normally doesn’t choose my clothes! But he really, _really_ wants me to wear this…”

What Selkie showed her was the outfit of a matron—a loose-fitting brown skirt that fell to her ankles and a green tunic that was surely a size too big. “I don’t get it! I only met him twice, but I really don’t think my great-uncle would’ve liked this.”

Rhajat struggled to suppress laughter—truly, it was a good thing her princess was so innocent. “I’m sure he’d respect your father’s wishes.”  

* * *

 

It was the second time she saw it, but getting to see Selkie transform still took Rhajat’s breath away.

Selkie settled in the corner of the room opposite from where Rhajat stood, curling on her side and brushing her tail with her claws. “Daddy says I ought to groom more.”

“Then why don’t you?”  
  
“Playtime means getting dirty. To be as clean as him, I’d have to brush through my coat every five minutes!” she whined.

“Sounds like my father, except with spiritual cleansing. He likes everything stripped down to neutrality, but I think working with residual energies can make magic more powerful.”

Her giant fox ears perked up. “So, doing magic stuff is like your playtime?”

“Maybe a little, sometimes.” Her practice was far from recreational, but Rhajat still smiled at the thought. She knew she wasn’t like other children her age and it made her unsure of herself whenever she interacted with her peers. But perhaps she wasn’t so far removed from them, after all.

Rhajat folded her travel tunic up into a small square. She then laid down on her back, placed the makeshift pillow under her head, and closed her eyes.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Trying to go to sleep.”

“But…! I thought you were gonna sleep next to me!”

Rhajat opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Selkie. She was seated up on her front legs, and even as a fox Rhajat could tell she was pouting. “You never told me that.”

“Yeah, but it’s obvious! There are no beds or pillows or blankets, so you should lean up against me!”

Suddenly, Rhajat’s hands felt sweaty. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! C’mon!” she waved her over with her paw.

So Rhajat crossed over to the other side of the room, laying on her side and allowing Selkie to curl around her. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” she nodded, in taking note of how Selkie’s paw was the size of her head.

“Okay.” She fanned her tail over Rhajat like a blanket. “Do you like that? Are you warm?”

“Yes.” She was certainly very warm, especially in the cheeks.

She yawned. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

* * *

 

The funeral was to take place in the center of the village.

They didn’t need the same help getting dressed as they would’ve with more traditional clothing, but Selkie still insisted on brushing Rhajat’s hair. “How do you keep it so long and thick? More magic?”

“Some witches cast spells like that, but not me. I just wash it every other day.”

“This is just how you are?! Wow… I should’ve known.”

The way Selkie said it—in that dreamy, half-sighed way—made Rhajat feel warm again, and she wanted to ask _are you_ sure _you haven’t charmed me?_ She knew a bit about love spells. The Wind Tribe’s local baker cast one on his husband, which was how they came to be married in the first place. The woman her grandfather once loved secured her spouse that way as well. Even Hayato, stiff and traditional as he was, cast one on Kagero to influence her into accepting his proposal. She didn’t seem anything wrong with love magic, but it was the only explanation she could think of. Why else would she be dazzled by such insignificant gestures?

They finished getting ready, and when they walked out the front door Selkie took Rhajat’s hand as they walked to the center of the hamlet. The sun shone so brightly that everything seemed to glow and clash; she clenched her eyes shut and bowed her head so deeply that her chin touched her chest, hoping that would be enough to keep the dull pain in her eyes from developing into a full-blown headache. Only when they stopped did she lift her head, squinting her left eye open. She saw the vague outlines of Lord Kaden, the three crones, Chief Jacquard, and many others surrounding the funeral pyre, heads bowed in prayer. When they made it up to them she and Selkie did the same, and she prayed to the Dawn Dragon for Selkie and Tricotta and the deceased’s grandchildren.

Once everyone was gathered, Chief Jacquard centered himself before the pyre and began recounting the life of his younger brother in detail, a flowery speech that Rhajat promptly tuned out. She took a look at crowd around her. There was a cluster of kitsune several-dozen strong gathered around the pyre, and Rhajat took them all to be family (save for herself, but who was she to let go of Selkie’s hand?). There was a visible gap between them and the rest of the kitsune who stood on the outskirts. There was a large variety in what they wore, none of which fell in line with what Selkie had suggested the previous bright-night, but she supposed that was just as well.

Rhajat nearly fell asleep as the speech dragged on; Selkie actually did, twice, and she would have fallen over if it weren’t for Rhajat jolting her awake. Otherwise the princess bounced in place, glanced around conspicuously, hummed to herself, stamped her feet on the ground. Rhajat was beginning to see why King Ryoma wasted no time removing her during that meeting two years ago.

She leaned in close to Rhajat. “Hey, um, you ever f-feel like you’re being watched?”

Rhajat nearly rolled her eyes. “Squirming around in place will certainly draw attention, yes.”

“No, not them, I-I mean…” Selkie picked up her head, scanning the trees with her eyes.

Rhajat tried to follow her gaze, but had to turn away her head when she felt the familiar stabbing sensation in her right eye. She sucked in air through clenched teeth as the pain took hold, not wanting cause scene like she did at Shirasagi’s front gate. “What do you see?”

“There’s no wind, but the leaves are mov—”

The arrow sped past them so quickly that it took off a chunk of Selkie’s hair.

Screams rippled through the air as the kitsune scattered. They made use of their gift and disappeared into thin air as arrows continued to rain down upon them—all except for Selkie, who maintained her grip on Rhajat’s hand as they ran across the clearing. The aspiring witch forced her eyes open, shoving her pain to the back of her mind. “Selkie, stop it! Hide!”

The princess ignored her. Arrows continued to speed past them at an increasing rate, and invisibility did not mean invulnerability; when a hiding kitsune was hit they instantly became visible again, falling to the ground. But as more of them fled the arrows increasingly became targeted at the two girls, until there came a point when arrows seemed to be coming at them from all sides. Suddenly, a transformed kitsune materialized in their path, taking several arrows in the chest and shoulder meant for them. Selkie screamed and threw her arms around Rhajat in an almost protective manner. Rhajat shoved her away.

“I said, _hide!”_ She turned away from her, in the direction where the attacks were mainly coming from.

Her father always taught her that magic could only be born from the material: if it couldn’t be precived by the five senses, then it’s energy could not be manipulated. But in her studies and experience Rhajat came to believe the opposite: magic was born from the mind. She couldn’t hear the arrows. None had hit her yet, so she couldn’t feel them. Forget about smelling or tasting. And as much as it pained her to admit, even to herself, she couldn’t see the poachers, or their weapons, or the trees in which they were stationed. It didn’t matter. She would still stop them.

She thought back the circle of protection she cast around herself when she summoned the dead Faceless, and she imagined that circle again—originating from the center of her being and extending outward in a veil of dark, defensive energy. She sent it outward from herself, allowing it to ripple through her so forcefully that she shook with its power. With her inner magic, as a conjuring witch of the wind, Rhajat fortressed the hamlet off from the invaders.

Bird fled from their nests. Several trees were nearly uprooted, and the attackers fell from where they were hidden. Everything was silent at once, before Chief Jacquard became visible again, transforming into a fox and chasing after the poachers. His mother and aunts and daughters followed after him, as did several other kitsune littered around the hamlet.

Rhajat could hear the commotion beyond the trees, the kitsune taking their revenge. As far as she was concerned the poachers deserved worse, but that wasn’t what she was most concerned about. Because beyond the shouting and the thrashing and the crunching of bones, Rhajat heard Selkie whimpering.

She turned and saw Selkie holding Lord Kaden, who laid on his side. He’d been struck by several arrows—the blows meant for them—and didn’t appear to be in good shape. “Please keep your eyes open daddy. Mom’s waiting for us back home. You can’t go to sleep now.”

Lord Kaden smiled weakly. “Don’t worry sweetie, I’m fine. Don’t cry.”

None of his wounds appeared to be lethal, but her knowledge on anatomy was limited and she didn’t want to chance it. Rhajat knelt down and place her hands on Lord Kaden. She thought back to the healing spells Hayato would cast on Saizo the Sixth back when he was just a ninja being broken and remade. Rhajat didn’t have a healing rod, but she imagined her hands remaking Lord Kaden, healing him with the magic she had inside herself.

Slowly his wounds began to close, pushing the arrows out of his body. Rhajat exhaled a sigh of relief. Selkie pressed a hand to her chest and cried.

 


End file.
